Consuming Shadows
by 93BNMill
Summary: Harry's dreams had always been odd. Sometimes dangerous, sometimes not. When one of his nightmares take a violent turn, when the Realm of Dreams spill over into reality, Harry is left reeling in a world where the laws of magic are as ambiguous as they are deadly. As he struggles to regain a state of normalcy, danger encroaches from the realms of the living and the shadows of death.
1. Chapter 1

**Consuming Shadows**

* * *

 **Author's Note**

Hello, One and All!

I've been in a bit of a pickle, these days. Writing isn't something that comes easily to me. The other FanFics I have on here, I keep trying to write on them and then I get stuck. It might be due to the fact I haven't done anything with them for so long. My brain doesn't really want to work on me with those. I do intend to go back and look through them, see if I can spark a creative flare once again, but, until then, I wanted to work on _something_ related to Harry Potter.

Hence where _this_ monster came from.

I'm not entirely sure where this story came from, though part of it was from a daydream of mine. I'm not going to say anything about what's going on due to the fact that it'll be a _huge_ spoiler for what I have planned already. However, everything below is something I found interesting. It's also something I haven't really seen myself, so that appeals to me far more than anything else.

Also, the lable says 'Tom Riddle, Harry Potter' for a reason. If you're not a fan of slash, I recommend turning away. Though I would first like to say _romance_ is not a central storyline in this, though it does play its part. With that said, I'd like to welcome all of you to _'Consuming Shadows.'_

Read, Enjoy and Review!

* * *

 **Chapter One**

* * *

Lightning flashed through the sky.

Red ribbons of electricity split the heavens in two, the sky dark and the rolling clouds black as a starless night. With every flash of lightning, the wet alleyways of a ruined city were illuminated by a nightmarish glow. It was here that Hadrian "Harry" Potter found himself, wet and cold and so very alone. As thunder howled in the distance, the Boy-Who-Lived cowered behind a rusted dumpster as something gangly and ungodly tall prowled past his hiding spot.

His vision was a blur of muted colors, his eyes squinted as he peered through the onslaught of rain that soaked him thoroughly. His broken frames were clutched in one hand, crimson tears slipping between his fingers as he pressed his back against the mental contraption that shielded him from prying eyes.

Harry held his breath as a clawed hand, fingers terrifyingly long and bony, curled over the lip of the dumpster above his head. He shrank, pressing himself closer to the ground as Killing Curse green eyes watched, glassy and brimming with unshed tears, as those claws cut through the metal. Each long gouge in was a peephole he could use to see towards the street, his attention barely able to comprehend the hazy, slumped figures trudging through the rain beyond.

Thunder clapped, so loud the ground rumbled. Harry watched as the creature, nothing more than a massive blur of churning shadows, reared back with an unholy screech. Screams cut through the downpour moments before the creature bounded away, the dumpster shuddering as the obscured monster used it as a launching post. Those screams increased in pitch and Harry curled into himself, hands clamped over his ears.

 _'Wake up, I have to wake up,'_ Harry pressed against the wall, huddled there for many long hours until the streets were running red and silence dragged on. He didn't want to move, didn't want to shift away from his hiding place. His eyes slowly opened sometime later, body heavy and sluggish as he leaned around the dumpster to eye the alleyway and the street beyond. _'I just have to get to the Gate, that's all. Then I'll wake up. I just have to get to the Gate.'_

Rising to his feet, Harry carefully made his way through the alleyway. A sense of unease followed him, his skin prickling as he crept towards the alleyway's exit. He stood upon the threshold for a while, squinting as he eyed the crumbled corpses on the ground. He wondered if Cedric would be among them, if his friend's body would be a new addition to a nightmare that has plagued him since he was a small, terrified child.

These nightmares, though, were often too real to be mere dreams.

Harry eyed his broken glasses as the thought crossed his mind. How was he going to explain _this_ to his aunt and uncle? _'I rolled on them when I was sleeping,'_ Harry's lips curled into a scowl. He knew such an excuse wouldn't go well with his uncle, though his aunt, Petunia Dursley, would likely scold him and have him doing chores every day for the rest of summer. _'Extra chores to an already long list. How fun.'_

He eyed the wide, spacious grounds ahead of him.

From where he stood, Harry could see the blurry outline of the Gate. The old, stone arch, covered in runes, was hazy and shimmering in the distance. The center of it would be filled with a deep gray, starlight-esque substance that gleamed regardless of what direction you looked at it from.

The massive, stone pillars surrounding it, each connected by thick, braided ropes, stood like silent guardians. Tattered banners and cloth wrapped around each, fluttering in an unseen wind. Harry knew it stood there, ready to spirit him away from this realm of dreams and nightmares.

Harry turned his attention from the Gate to the surrounding area. Those creatures, they were in the square. They stalked between the half-walls, hunched forms impossibly large. Harry knew he would have to get past them if he wanted to wake up, that he had to make it across the open ground to the Gate before they grabbed hold of him.

He didn't like the thought of getting hurt in this place and having to explain to everyone _else_ how he got said injury. He'd been there too many times already. Harry smiled, a humorless twist of his lips that matched the dark hue of his eyes as he took his first step into the open grounds. The shift in the air was instant, the low growling that lingered at the edge of his senses silenced.

Harry didn't hesitate – he ran.

The screech that followed froze Harry to the core. His body was rigid in seconds, each limb locked in place. His heart thundered in his chest as he heard something scraping across the stones. His eyes widened as a thick, eerie smoke billowed across the ground. A lump formed in his throat, his breath hitching as his eyes began to burn. Behind him, a low, rumbling growl.

 _'Never look at the Nagarogi. This, Potter, is the first rule.'_

 _'What happens if I do?'_

 _'Pray to God that they kill you fast.'_

Harry struggled against the invisible bindings wrapped around him. He could hear the creature coming ever-closer, talons clicking against the stones. In the distance, there was shouting. He thought he heard something like gunfire and explosions, saw the bright flares of crimson light in the distance. A massive, dark shadow fell over his immobile body, a low, rumbling growl curling tight around him. He couldn't breathe, couldn't move, couldn't _think_.

His eyes stung, the unshed tears finally flowing free.

Someone was shouting, sharp explosions going off.

A flare of light shot past Harry's face. The force holding captive released him and the creature behind him shrieked. A heavy hand grabbed his forearm, hauling him away from the Gate with a long list of curses. Harry flushed, staggering as he was pulled away from the open space towards the alleyways where several others stood, guns raised and ready.

"Come on, kid!" Harry got his momentum back, easily keeping pace with the man holding his hand. One of the people ahead pulled the trigger. The bullet whipped past his cheek, slicing through his cheek. Harry felt claws graze his back, heard something slamming into the ground seconds after. In front of him, the man yellowed, "Get behind cover!"

Harry was hurled forward, then. Waiting arms caught him, pulling him close as gunshots went off again and again. He turned, eyes wide as the man who had grabbed him stood, upright, with a shotgun in hand. One of the creatures was lunging for him, elongated jaws wide open and fangs bared. This man pulled the trigger and the creature rocketed backward with a shrill screech.

When he turned, black-red hair dark and tussled, Harry noted the vantablack visor covering his eyes. It took the youth by surprise even as the man yelled, "Don't just stand there! _Move!"_

Harry wasn't sure how long they ran, only that the Gate was further and further away. A sense of dread filled him, a deep understanding that his chances of _waking up_ were becoming slimmer and slimmer. As he stumbled down a flight of stairs, dunking as bullets sprayed the air, an insistent thought popped up in his head:

 _'Why can't I have normal dreams?'_

They hit the next landing in record time, the small group sprinting through the twisting passageways with an air of certainty. When Harry stumbled, a slender hand caught his and pulled him forward. The man with the visor stayed at the tail of the group, the sound of his gun going off time and time again. The inside of Harry's chest was starting to burn, his lungs working harder now than they had before. He ideally wondered if he would suffocate from running too much.

"The next turn, Gema," Mr. Visor yelled at them and the youth holding his hand, Gema, called back, "Understood, Chief! Everyone, _left!"_

The group turned as one, some swinging widely into the alleyway while others skidded around the corner. Harry's eyes widened as one boy, perhaps a few years older than him, slid around the corner with one hand grazing the slick stones of the alleyway floor. Then that same boy was upright and sprinting to the front of the group, yelling in some other language.

 _'Do you think it idiotic that the dark frightens us, Potter?'_

 _'The dark can't hurt you.'_

 _'Can't it?'_

 _'No.'_

 _'Then I take it you've never looked into that darkness and had it stare back at you.'_

Harry's head was starting to pound even as a near-black shadow soared over them from somewhere above. Harry's lips parted, a whisper on his lips as the _thing_ dropped from the rooftops. It landed in the middle of the group, screeching with rage. One long, claw hand swiped through the group. Red sprayed through the air, bodies shattering and spraying the walls and ground with dark red, life-giving blood.

Gema came to an abrupt halt, her breath catching in her throat. It stuck there, a sound that Harry tried to focus on. Then he realized – she was _sobbing_. Yet she whipped her gun from the sheath on her side, arm swinging up. Before she could even pull the trigger, the barrel flew off.

All that remained was a semi-horizontal, half-barrel of a gun.

 _'You've never seen a real monster, have you Potter?'_

 _A small boy, no more than five, peered up at the man in front of him. The black-haired child was dressed in a hoodie that was too large on his thin frame, his broken glasses held together by rolls of black tape. The child tried to guess how old this man was. A mirthless smile answered his unspoken thoughts. Hadrian tensed as this man crouched in front of him, a sense of unease curling through him as almost-black eyes focused on his face._

 _'No, I reckon you haven't,' the man carded calloused fingers through his hair, eyes hard with a hint of cruelty. Hadrian's stomach clenched, his skin crawling as screams tore through the distance. The child held this man's gaze as the elder continued, 'After tonight, if you survive, you'll wake up knowing what a_ real _demon is, Hadrian James Potter. That I can promise you.'_

Harry didn't think he could get away, not this time. Too many memories sang in his mind, clogging his thoughts as the creature, the Nagaroja, stalked closer. In that moment, Harry knew Gema would die if this thing got its hands on her. She would die just like the others around them had.

When the Nagaroja lunged forward, Harry pushed her out of the way.

Behind them, a man yelled his name. As Gema hit the ground, gun spiraling away from her, his name was torn from her lips as a panicked, terrified scream. Harry could on see the darkness coming down on him, could only hear the blood roaring in his ears as razor-sharp teeth cut through his neck and shoulder. He could only taste iron on his tongue, feel his lungs filling with blood as a blade-like protrusion snapped out of the Nagaroja's arm.

Then the blade was punched through his chest into his heart.


	2. 04, November 2017

**Consuming Shadows**

* * *

 **Chapter Two**

* * *

The pain was unfathomable.

Harry screamed, a shrill note that tore and cut until he was left mute and spasming. The blade was cold, frozen, within his chest. He could _feel_ his heart pounding around it, impossibly beating as the Nagaroja pressed harder on his bleeding, _breaking_ body. He grasped at the blade, fingers slipping through the blood spurting from the access point that joined metal and body.

Heels scrapping against the ground, Harry fought.

 _'I'm not going to die here,'_ he grappled with the arm pinning him down, nails biting into skin as he drew in a rough, uneven breath. Blood churned in his lungs, erupting from his lips as he started to cough. Above him, the Nagaroja laughed. Ice surged through his body, pumped through his veins as his heart struggled to continue its designated job against all odds. Vision darkening, blood thrumming in his ears, Harry felt his grip weakening. _'I don't want to die here…'_

The oncoming transition between one place and the next was unwelcome in its entirety.

It was a sensation Harry couldn't describe, only that he _felt_ the realm of _nothingness_ coming at him like a train coming off its tracks. There was screaming, explosions, and then there was a sense of complete silence. White exploded all around him, blinding in its suddenness, and the Nagaroja tore itself away from him with a panicked screech.

Harry arched off the group, another scream torn from him.

Off to the side, the creature itself twisted and turned upon itself as it hissed and screeched.

Harry pitched onto his side, hands pressing against white stone. He blinked, vision blurring, as he pushed himself onto his hands and knees. He looked up through his bangs, emerald irises wide as the Nagaroja slammed into a pristine, white wall. Harry watched as its claws, sharp and biting into impossible walls, broke and splintered. The Nagaroja was possessed with a sense of untold, unseen, _never-witnessed_ fear of the likes Harry had never thought possible.

Harry rose to his knees, one hand pressed against the gaping wound in his chest, as he watched, shocked into silence, as the creature threw itself against the wall a second, and then a third, time. It continued to shriek, each note shrill and panicked as it battered itself against the high, stone walls with an unprecedented frenzy. Harry inched away from the creature, emerald eyes bright and gaze focused, yet hazy, on the beast and its spastic movements.

When the creature stilled, body curled into itself, Harry pulled himself upright. He kept his eye on the beast as he edged his way along the wall, his heart thundering in his chest like a frightened hummingbird. When the Nagaroja still did not move, Harry's gaze shifted from the creature to the imposing, white, tunnel-like place he had found himself in.

His first thought was: _'Is this a train station?'_

His second thought was: _'Where the hell is this place, anyway?'_

There wasn't an answer. Harry was expecting one, either. The ground was flawlessly smooth, all white marble. There were no groves that would speak of multiple slabs of stone being laid down. It was almost as if this place was inside a white, marble _mountain._ The walls and the ceiling were made of the same flawless stone, smoothed and polished to perfection.

Even the benches resting along the train tracks were made of the same white stone, gleaming and bright and ghostly pale. As Harry quietly made his way further from the Nagaroja, he absently pondered the possibility of being dead. Why else would everything around him be so bloody _white,_ if this wasn't the Land of the Dead?

Or, if this was Death's Realm, where was…everyone else?

Behind him, a low, guttural growl cut through the quiet. Harry barely had a moment to prepare as he turned, arms swinging up as the monster itself slammed into him with a howl, its eyes all white. Harry skidded back from the impact, nearly tripping over his own feet as the Nagaroja cracked its own neck with a deep, throaty snarl and slowly turned to face him.

Harry dove to the side as it lunged for him again. He hit the ground, hard. He pushed himself to his feet, sprinting down the long runway as the Nagaroja screamed and howled, its claws ringing every time they struck the ground. Harry's breath came it sharp gusts, his chest burning.

When the creature slammed into his side, after bouncing off the wall, Harry's feet left the ground. He sailed through the air, body light as air. When he hit the ground again, he cried out. Beneath him, the white, iron rails of the train track bit into his back. The Nagaroja landed on top of him seconds after, blade-laden arm swinging down.

Harry caught it with a scream of his own. His arms burned with the effort to stop the oncoming death-blow, hands feeling as if they were doused in flame as the black-and-white blade cut through the tender skin of his hands. He clenched his jaw, trying to push back against the bulkier form bearing down on him with bloodthirsty intent.

Harry's eyes, they were wide and terrified. Greener than death. A low, droning noise seemed to creep out of the vast, white surroundings. Harry wedged his leg between them, pressing both feet flat against the Nagaroja's chest. He grunted, gaze narrowing as he slowly forced more space between the two of them. With a cry, he kicked the beast away and rolled off the track as the beat lunged for him.

Then the train barreled down the tracks, a glowing, silver blur that whistled and screamed as Harry flattened himself against the wall. His clothing whipped around him, burning against his skin as the Nagaroja, seen in flashes between each car of the train, watched him. As Harry huddled against the wall, he realized it was slowly fading away with too-white eyes staring him down. Rage burned in its eyes as it threw back its head and screamed.

When the train passed, the ground, smooth and dry under his hands, was a deep, polished brown.

Broken glasses hit the floor next to him, the frames snapped in half and bits of glass sprinkled all over the floor around him. Everything around him was shifting and pulsating. Was _this_ what an acid trip was like? As he rolled onto his side, sitting up with his back against a hard wall, Harry dragged in a deep, uneven breath. His chest burned from the action.

"What the _bloody hell_ just happened?" Harry ran a hand through his hair, suddenly wide awake and on the floor in his _muggle_ bedroom. He looked down at himself. His nightshirt was torn and bloody, his chest blackened and bruised underneath. His glasses were broken beyond repair, the shattered glass scattered across the room. "What just happened?"

Harry dragged himself to his feet, leaning against the wall for support. The floor was clear, though the sheets on his bed were a deep crimson, almost black, instead of a faded, dull blue. Running his hand along his face, the Boy-Who-Lived made his way across the room and tore the sheets, and blankets, from the bed. He wadded them up, tossing them into the laundry basket without a second thought. He kicked that into the corner of the room, his gaze shifting to the bloody mattress with a sense of disbelief.

"What the hell can I do about _that?"_ Harry sat on his haunches, then. He ran his hands along his face, threaded his fingers through his hair. His hair passed between his fingers, damp but untangled. He caught the end of one strand, tugging on it absently as he eyed the bed. "Well, I suppose I _could_ flip it over. That might hide the evidence until I'm back at Hogwarts. Merlin, what the fuck just happened to me?"

Harry leaned against his bedroom wall, mind reeling. He could still feel the winds of the train as it barreled past him. He could still feel the cold, _stone_ floor against his skin. He could still feel the blade in his chest as easily as he could feel his heart pounding away beneath his rib cage. Pulling his shirt off, Harry ambled towards his bedroom door and pressed his pale, thin hand against the worn wood.

Mint-green eyes flashed through his mind, bright and pale in an earnest, strawberry-blonde face. Harry blinked. Gema, her name had been. Had she been a fabrication of his dreams or someone real who dreamed like he did? Then the Gate came back to his thoughts.

"How am I awake?" Harry leaned against the door, eyes half-mast as he remembered the events from when he was sleeping with clarity. Temple hitting the worn door, Harry murmured, "How am I alive? Why am I alive? What the bloody hell just happened to me?"

He knew he wasn't going to get an answer anytime soon.


	3. 05, November 2017

**Consuming Shadows**

* * *

 **Chapter Three**

* * *

A week passed since Harry woke up, bruised and battered yet miraculously alive.

In the hours after he woke up, he had cleaned up and disposed of any evidence which told of his nearly fatal nightmare. The sheets vanished, the bed was flipped, the floors swept. Now Harry hurried about the house dressed in a thick, winter hoodie and loose, baggy pants. The sleeves fell past his fingertips. He was content to let them stay that way, the heat a blissful contrast to the chill he seemed to contract.

Petunia watched as he did his chores, a silent observer with a constantly furrowed brow. Vernon was silent, whatever hateful comments that once were on his tongue long gone. Even Dudley, his awful cousin, watched him with an intensity that bordered on _creepy_. When Harry turned his attention on any of them, however, not _one_ of them were looking at him.

Harry, at this moment in time, was outside in the backyard. Kneeling in the garden, weeds coming undone under his careful touch, Harry felt relaxed. His muscles were all loose, all the tension was gone from his lean, skinny form. His hair hung around his chin, almost flat with a slight curl at the tips. When he brushed his bangs from his face, green eyes coming into view for a few short seconds, the dry strands of black hair fell back into his face.

He was seriously considering his aunt's suggestion on using hairclips to keep them out of his face.

Harry paused, eyes half-lidded as his fingers burrowed into the dirt. It was lukewarm against his skin, comfortable and natural. Scooping a handful of dirt into his palm, Harry eyed the dark brown soil with a lopsided grin. A worm curled around his forefinger, wet and alive against his skin.

Letting the dirt fall between his fingers and then lowering the worm to the ground, Harry turned to grab a potted plant. He freed the green organism from the pot, gently breaking apart the dirt wad until the roots tickled his wrist and palm. He dug another hole in the garden and gently lowered the plant into its new home. After reburying the roots, he watered the plant and sat back on his haunches with a sense of wonder.

"Never thought I'd find enjoyment out of _gardening,"_ Harry stood and dusted off his hands as he eyed the garden and everything growing in it. Some of the veggies he planted after _That Night_ were already sprouting, small green stems unfurling from the soil with a sense of purpose. "This is the last thing I enjoyed, you know. Slaving away under a too-hot sun wasn't what I considered a fun pastime activity. Now, though…"

Now the heat didn't bother him. Harry let the sleeves fall past his fingertips, pale hands enclosed in the warm fabric. His skin crawled as a stray breeze kissed the back of his neck. He would need a scarf, the way things were going. As he turned around, he saw Hedwig's pale body flew through the open window to his bedroom. Harry grinned.

Going inside, he found his aunt cooking in the kitchen. Petunia didn't look away from the knife in her hand and the carrots on the counter as she said, "Harry, surely that jacket is too warm for the weather we're having. Go upstairs and change."

This wasn't the first time she had said this. Harry grinned. "I'm cold, though. Think I got a cold."

She glanced away from her work, then. Putting the knife down, Petunia turned and pressed a dainty wrist against his forehead. She held it there for over a minute, brow knitting as she finally said, "You're _cold,_ Harry. Where you out in the root cellar?"

"No, Aunt Petunia," Harry looked up at her through his bangs. She tugged on one loose strand, the black tresses almost straight between her fingers. She pursed her lips before she said, "And what's this, Harry? Your hair isn't a wild rat's nest."

Harry shrugged. "No idea. I guess getting older means I'm not a walking disaster."

She snorted. "Go sit in the front room. I'll get you some tea and soup."

Another unusual turn – life in the Dursley Household wasn't anywhere as horrid as it had been and that was nice in its own way. When he entered the front room, Dudley was sitting on the couch playing some video game featuring soldiers, night vision goggles and lots of guns. His cousin glanced over at him and scooted over. Dudley said nothing as he returned to the mission he was playing through, blue eyes focused on the television with such intensity it was almost as if his cousin was _in_ the game instead of _playing_ it.

"Feeling sick again?"

"No, not really."

"Mum making you tea?"

"Yeah," Harry leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees as he eyed the television screen with a faint smile. In the kitchen, he heard the teakettle scream. "I'm a tad _too_ cold for Aunt Petunia, so I get another round of tea and soup. What mission are you on?"

"Freelance," Dudley grunted, clicking a few buttons. An enemy exploded. Harry's eyebrow arched, vanishing into his hairline as Dudley continued, "The enemy set up a bomb and I have to find it. They hid it good. Shocking, really. Thought they were all a bunch of idiots."

"They _are_ a bunch of idiots," Harry gestured to the screen and Dudley looked over at him. When Harry grinned, Dudley shook his head. After a moment, Harry continued, "I'd check that big old building in the background – right, that one. Military, right? If I was gonna hide a bomb, I'd put it there. It'll have basement levels, which would be an obvious choice of location…"

"Which means you _wouldn't_ put it there, right?" Dudley shot another enemy. Harry hummed.

Beside him, Dudley sighed. "So where _would_ you put it?"

"Depends on the layout, really," Harry took the tablet his cousin passed to him with a wide grin. He tapped in the coordinates as Dudley said them and watched as a map of the building in question came into view. He flipped through the different levels as he said, "Three basement levels, two for an attic. Tricky, this one. Ten floors, total."

 _"Ten?"_ Dudley's attention snapped to him as Petunia came into the front room. Harry took the cup as she handed it to him, nodding in thanks before sipping the drink. He tapped too-pale fingers across the screen of the tablet, eyeing the different floors as Dudley said, "Ten floors? I wonder who built _that_ building. How's the design?"

"Simple," Harry hit a side button and watched as the different maps stacked on top of one another to create a massive, 3-D map of the entire building for a military-esque layout. He turned the building this way and that as he hummed in thought, tablet propped against his knee. His aunt leaned against the back of the couch, looking over his shoulder as Harry said, "It's a simple layout, kind of like ten houses stacked one on top of the next. Few corridors. Idiots, right? I would say the bomb would either be on the top level or the bottommost. Looks like the walls and the floor are reinforced…"

Dudley grunted again, eyes narrowed on the screen. Harry turned, catching his aunt's gaze as he said, "Where do _you_ think the morons put the bomb?"

"Since these are a few of Dudley's friends, I'd say they put it in the basement," Petunia mused as she eyed the map, a thoughtful frown pulling at her lips. Harry nodded in agreement. Dudley grinned. Harry tilted his head to the side as he said, "Direct your platoon into the basement, Duds, and make your way to the attic. If the bomb _is_ in the basement, you'd die and lose. If it's in the attic, you can destroy it and jump."

"Ten floors?"

"Jump into the trees," Harry eyed the surroundings of the building. "Dumbasses built this tower in the middle of the forest. The trees will offer support so you don't die when you jump. Climb to the ground and run for cover. You win."

"God, I'm happy you're on _my_ side," Dudley was directing his forces through the front door and down the stairs while his character started up a winding, twisting stairwell. He handed his aunt the tablet and grabbed the soup as he answered his cousin, "I'm sure your friends are less than thrilled. They die every time I'm sitting here."

Dudley snorted, thin lips cracking into a grin. "They complain _all the time."_

Scooping a spoonful of soup into his mouth, Harry could only _imagine_ all the complaints Dudley's friends have. The Boy-Who-Lived kept his gaze on the television, watching as his cousin went room from room, blasting enemy after enemy. As he drank another spoonful of red, hot liquid, Harry couldn't help but wish taking on the _Dark Lord_ was so easy.

His life would be so much easier if defeating a mad, insane wizard was like a video game.

Mess up? Press 'Restart.' Mess up again? Walk away and never worry about it again.

Harry finished the soup as the bomb, located in the basement, went off. He watched as Dudley threw his character out of the window to safety, his cousin whooping in triumph. Harry took his dishes back to the kitchen before heading upstairs. Once in his room, he closed, and locked, the door behind himself.

Hedwig sat on his bedpost, white feathers ruffled. A couple of letters rested on the bed, the envelopes dented from where they had rested in her beak. Harry crawled onto the bed, ignoring the letters for the time being, and longingly stroked his feathered friend's crown. Hedwig nuzzled her face into Harry's palm, cooing softly as he ran his fingers along the side of her face.

"You're a good girl, you know that?" Harry leaned in and brushed his nose against her feathered forehead, inhaling her scent with gratitude. When she nipped at his lip, Harry laughed and pulled away. Harry turned to the letters on his bed, smile falling from his face. Harry riffled through the letters, each envelope thick beneath his fingertips. "Wonder what they have to say this time?"

The first one was from Ron. It was short, an apology for not writing sooner.

"Everything's going well, mate," Harry read aloud, listening as Hedwig gave a sharp hoot off to his side. Harry cleared his voice and keep going, "Mum's driving us all bonkers. A cleaning spree, of all things. Fred and George keep pranking all of us, making us clean everything _again_. Padfoot asked after you a few times. I think Hermione might have an answer, there. Take care."

Harry tossed the letter aside with a snort. "Again, nothing new there."

He turned to the last two letters, both in the same light blue envelope that _screamed_ Hermione.

Harry couldn't stop the grin even if he wanted to. He opened the first one, the handwriting sharp and dark. The small '1' in the corner was a good sign. Harry leaned into his headboard, eyes scanning the sentences. Then he slowed.

 _'Don't worry, Harry. The news hasn't said anything about the projects you wanted me to keep an eye on. The Ministry isn't saying anything, either. The only thing that has been said was about Cedric and how the "tragedy" is one all of us will hold close. Professor Remus is doing alright, too. He's expressed his concern about you and Snuffles is constantly scratching at the door. I think he wants you here, too. The second letter is from PF. It wasn't easy getting it out of the house, though I think Hedwig needs a mighty big 'Thank You' for that. She's one smart owl. Take care, Harry, and know that I'm doing everything I can to keep track of everything you need to know.'_

Harry read and reread that one part, curious and wanting to know more. Then he turned to the last letter, which he picked up with utmost care. When he opened it, he felt magic curl through the paper. He felt it ripple through the air. When he unfolded the paper, only one sentence was waiting for him. One that started to burn the moment he read it.

 _'We're Coming To Get You.'_


	4. 15, November 2017

**Consuming Shadows**

* * *

 **Chapter Four**

* * *

The resounding crack of magic that followed as the letter crumbled to ashes was one Harry knew was coming but wasn't ready for. His cousin and aunt's shocked screams cut through the air and the sound of something heavy hitting the ground was undoubtedly his cousin falling off the new, pristine couch. Harry snickered to himself as he left his bedroom, calmly taking the stairs into the hall and then following the path into the front room.

Dudley was, indeed, on the ground and his blue eyes were wide and his jaw slack.

Petunia had dropped a dish, small pizza-like things scattered across the ground amongst the broken shards of a dinner plate. Harry spotted his godfather within seconds, suddenly very happy as the man turned.

Sirius Black's jaw dropped when they locked gazes, stormy gray eyes wide and surprised. "Wha?"

Harry grinned.

"Sirius," Harry paused at his cousin's side, helping him up without thinking about it.

Dudley hid behind him, his massive body a black sun behind Harry's thin frame. His aunt was sinking into a seat with Remus's help, her lips moving but no sound coming out. Remus was patting her hand, eyes soft as a pink-haired witch fixed the broken plate and levitated the food onto its shiny surface. Then she tripped, grunting as she hit the ground. The plate hit her in the back, the food, once more, scattering across the floor.

Harry's gaze shifted to Sirius once more as he said, "Why are _you_ surprised? Why are you here?"

Even as another wizard's mouth opened, a retort likely on the tip of his tongue, the only answer Harry got was Sirius's arms wrapping around him. Suddenly flush against his godfather, cool cheek pressed against an all- _too_ warm robe, Harry smiled and returned the embrace. When a steady hand fell on his shoulder, the Boy-Who-Lived eased out of his godfather's arms to turn and embrace the werewolf behind him.

Remus stepped back after a moment, a thin, calloused hand absently carding through Harry's dark hair. The man had a bemused smile on his face. "Somehow, in some way, this look suits you, Harry. When did you get your hair fixed?"

A mental image of a monster's arm, with its protruding blade, punching through his head as Harry blinked. When _had_ that occurred? Sometimes he had a hard time remembering, especially when the chill set in. Remus, however, was a walking heater. Harry was more than content to stay half-way in Remus's arms, more than happy to soak up the heat rolling off the werewolf in waves.

Behind him, Petunia said, "It was a week ago."

Harry turned, his gaze falling on his aunt as she said, "I suggested it, actually. Always being compared to _only_ one parent was settling a bit too heavily on his nerves. So we got it fixed."

Harry, and even Dudley, was staring at the tall, skinny woman with a blank face. Sirius laughed, a deep sound that rumbled through the older wizard's chest. "Now he's a perfect blend of Lily and James. Mother's eyes and similar hair, yet his coloration is like his dad! I like it. You, Remus?"

"I do," Remus murmured, one arm still wound tight around Harry's shoulders. "Have you a cold?"

"Hmm?"

"You're wearing a coat," Harry looked at his sweater, blinking owlishly as Remus continued, "It's in the nineties outside. Are you not feeling well?"

"Just," Harry lightly traced his fingers of the back of Remus's hand as he eyed the other's in the room. His attention settled on the pink-now-Weasley-red-haired woman, voice soft as he continued on without pausing, "…cold. How are you? The full moon was a few days ago."

"I'm feeling better than I had," Remus stepped back, turning to one who Harry realized was the real Mad-Eye Moody, as he said, "And you are, without a doubt, Harry Potter. Someone might be able to disguise themselves as you, but never would they be able to trick this nose of mine."

"What's going on?" Harry's gaze shifted to his aunt, his smile fading. Dudley looked just as confused, if not terrified. His cousin's gaze was on Sirius, beady blue eyes so large the smaller boy was certain they'd pop out of his skull. Harry's attention turned to his aunt as she said, "Why are you two in my house? After all these years, you have the _nerve_ to show –"

"Oh, come _on,_ Tuney!" Sirius advanced on the thin, tall woman with a sharp, wide smile. "It's been, what, _twenty years!"_

"You two know each other?" Harry and Dudley's question came out at the same moment. Both adults looked over at them, one grinning madly and the other with her arms crossed over her chest in a defensive pose. Harry pressed his lips into a thin line as Dudley said, "Mum, you _know_ this man? How? When? _Why?"_

"I know Sirius Black," Petunia gestured to the man in question before pointing at Remus. The tired werewolf simply blinked, almost seeming as if this entire odd conversation wasn't odd in the slightest. Petunia shook her head, arms wrapping around her middle as she said, "I also know Remus Lupin. They were friends of my sister, of your _aunt,_ Lily. Black, there, is the reason why I have a black mark on my otherwise pristine record."

"I said I was sorry!"

"Not sorry enough, I'd say."

"You _did_ get her arrested, Siri," Harry's jaw, and Dudley's, dropped at Remus's comment. The werewolf's eyes were brighter, a hint of a smile curling the corner of his mouth as Sirius threw up his hands in defeat. Sirius turned to Remus, voice even as he said, "I never intended the police to catch us. I also didn't expect them to check _her_ bags for the drugs!"

 _"Drugs?"_

Dudley looked ready to have an aneurysm, his once-flushed body suddenly white as a calm, winter morning. His eyes were impossibly large, the blue irises visible and shining. To Harry's greatest amusement, his cousin was properly _horrified._

Petunia was mortified. "This isn't a story that needs to be shared in front of my kids!"

Dudley shoved his way forward, eyes wide as he looked frantically from his mother to the Infamous _Murderer_ broadcasted on muggle and magical new networks. Dudley swung around on Sirius, voice pitched as he demanded, _"How did you get my mum arrested, Black?"_

When Sirius opened his mouth, Petunia murmured, in a quiet and deadly whisper, "Say a word, Black, and I'll cut off your dick."

 _"Mom!"_

Harry started to laugh, unable to hold the mirth in as Sirius's hands shield his covered privates. It was such an unexpected response that the Boy-Who-Lived had to lean against the wall, arms wrapped around his middle and eyes watering. Dudley sank into a chair, his childhood image of a mother without fault, flawless and perfect in the eyes of society, was crushed. Remus, too, was grinning widely.

Sirius was scooting away from the scowling woman, paler than Harry had ever seen him before. His godfather's voice was strained as he said, "Really, Tuney, I know you've wanted to take me for a ride, but, _really_ , castrating me isn't the answer. That's why muggles have something called _adult stores._ You should go and find one."

Harry fell to the floor, no longer able to hold himself up as Remus leveled a glare on the convict-on-the-run. "Siri, have some class. There are _children_ in this house."

"Let's not forget when she was drunk and came onto _you,_ Rem," Sirius was grinning, dark eyes suddenly alight with an undertone of dark, twisted humor. Remus's eyes widened, lips parted but otherwise unmoving. Then amber eyes narrowed to slits, a growl rumbling in the wolf's chest as he replied, "Let's not forget _who_ drugged her, Siri. Can you _imagine_ what Lily would have done if _that_ incident escalated?"

"Um, what exactly are we talking about?" The pink-haired witch cut into the conversation, too-large eyes flickering between the various people in the room. Sirius turned to her, voice light as he answered, "Oh, we're just discussing how Rem _almost_ fucked Tu –"

Harry anticipated many different outcomes to this turn of conversation, but a vase smashing into the back of his godfather's head wasn't one of them. Harry watched as Sirius's body was thrown forward and, eyes wide, watched as his godfather hit the ground face-first. Behind him, Petunia stood with one arm outstretched and her fingers pointed.

She was livid, seething. "Not _another word,_ Sirius Black! _Not another word!"_

Remus shook his head, turning to the pink-haired witch as he said, "Tonks, I think we should go ahead and pack Harry's stuff. Those two are gonna be at one another's throats soon enough. I'd rather get the pup out of here before blood starts spilling."

Harry followed them up the stairs, Dudley fast on his heels. As they made it to the hallway connecting their rooms, Dudley muttered, "I just learned a few things about my mum I did _not_ want to know…"

Harry smiled, a sense of contentment curling through him. "I like it, really."

"You do?"

"Yeah," Harry let them into his room and plopped himself onto his bed as Remus flicked out his wand and started muttering spells under his breath. Tonks, the pink-haired witch, was doing much the same but with more enthusiasm. Harry's attention shifted to his cousin as he said, "I can relate a bit better, now. Knowing she's my mum's sister is one thing. Knowing she got into a few _tiffs_ with Sirius and Remus? That's just a highlight to bring it all together."

Behind him, Remus said, "She wouldn't agree, I'd say."

Harry shrugged. Huddling deeper into his sweater, he absently wondered if, maybe, he should wear a long-sleeved shirt underneath. The chill was creeping back. As this thought crossed his mind, Harry turned and looked at Remus as he said, "What's going on, anyway? Am I leaving?"

"You are, yes," Remus spelled a trunk shut and flicked his wand at Hedwig's cage. It shrank and then it vanished into a bag hanging from the werewolf's hip. "Dumbledore decided you should change locations. Ron and Hermione are already – Harry, are you alright?"

The ravenette paused, green eyes slowly lifting as he tucked his chin deeper into his sweater. At his side, Dudley stared. Tonks stared. _Remus_ stared, a worried frown pulling at his mouth. Harry rolled his shoulders, voice light as he said, "I'm fine, Remus. Just…"

"Cold?"

"Yeah," Harry watched as the two adults packed the rest of his stuff, his gaze focused as Remus paused. He watched as his ex-professor's nostrils flared, amber eyes darkening for a moment as intense eyes swept across the room. Did he smell the blood, somehow? Harry fought the urge to cast a quick glance at the once-bloody floor, his heart aching as a phantom blade punched through the organ. "I haven't been feeling all that great. Everyone's sick, you know."

"Mages don't get sick," Remus inhaled deeply, eyes half-lidded. Harry watched as the werewolf's attention shifted to the closet, heart slowing in his chest as Remus pocked around in that dark space that once held a bloody sheet. The corner it had laid in, crumbled and beyond saving, was where the werewolf paused and inhaled once again. "We can get sick, but not like muggles do."

"You don't get ill?" Dudley wandered to Remus's side, blue eyes curious.

Remus shot a gaze at Dudley. "We do, just not as easy. Our magic is sort of like an immunity booster. It protects us against the more common ailments the world offers, but it strains against illnesses and diseases that have a magical undertone."

When the returned downstairs, Sirius was on one side of the room, cheeks red, and Harry's aunt was in the kitchen humming happily to herself. Harry's gaze shifted to his cousin, not quite sure what to make of the situation and wondering what they missed out on. Remus zeroed in on Sirius, his voice low and hard as he asked, "What did you do _this_ time, Siri?"

Harry didn't pay attention to the answer. He went into the kitchen and sat at the table, quietly watching as his aunt prepared dinner like the good housewife she was. After a moment, he finally asked, "Do you miss it, Aunt Petunia?"

"Hmm?" She paused what she was doing to turn to face him, face expressionless. "Whatever do you mean, Harry?"

He raised an eyebrow in question. She sighed, voice soft as she said, "Sometimes, I do. Some of my best memories are of that group, of Lily and the boys. Sev, too."

"Sev?"

Petunia leaned over the counter. "He was a childhood friend of your mother, Harry. I haven't thought about _him_ in ages. I can't place his name, exactly, but I know Lily always would run out of the house after breakfast while yelling, _'I'm off to see Sev. I'll be home for supper!'_ She was a good girl. Bright, smart and beautiful. That's what I miss, Harry. I miss my sister."

"You and Dudley should go shopping with me when I go to get my supplies for school."

The comment slipped out of his mouth before he could stop it. Harry felt his cool cheeks flush, a dusting of light pink caressing his skin as Petunia frowned. Swallowing, Harry held her gaze as he finally said, "It's one way you could reclaim a piece of her. Help me pick out my supplies. We could get ice cream, after."

Harry thought she wasn't going to answer. With a sigh, he pushed himself away from the table and made his way to the door as Sirius and the others prepared to leave.

Behind him, his aunt said, "Send me an owl. We'll meet up at the Leaky Cauldron."

Harry turned to her, a smile spreading across his face. "I'd like that."

* * *

 **Author's Note**

Hello and welcome back!

I haven't been here for a while. However, I did get this chapter done. I laughed like an insane woman, writing this. Some of the conversations weren't what I was expecting. I'm playing off the family dynamics a bit differently here, trying to flesh them all out and building character. While _'Harry Potter'_ belongs to Rowling, _this_ story belongs to me. So I'm gonna write these characters the way I want to write them, for the sake of the story.

Things have been crazy, of late.

My mum's back from the hospital. She has cancer. They removed most of it with surgery. In six months, she'll start chemo.

I'm also fairly certain my boss is considering the prospect of _firing_ me because I've missed a few shifts due to family issues. It's not like I up-and-asked for cancer to come and sit with my mum, you know? So that's where things are right now. I have no idea what I'm doing, only that, for some reason, this is one of the few places I can relax. So I'm hunting down another job, which is difficult. I have school in the mornings (or had them, considering I stay home to take care of my mum) and jobs around here don't want to hire a college student who has classes in the morning.

So the question is what to do. The answer is simple:

 _Write!_

So I did just that. Here's another chapter of the womnderous _'Consuming Shadows!'_

I hope everyone enjoyed: Read, Enjoy, And, _Please_ , Review!


	5. 18, November 2017

**Consuming Shadows**

* * *

 **Chapter Five**

* * *

Flying had always been something Harry loved.

The feel of the wind on his face, the cool breeze caressing his skin – these were things he took a great deal of pride in. It was his escape. Now, however, it was a source of great discomfort. He was _freezing,_ body feeling heavy and uncooperative. He knew Sirius and Remus, and even Mad-Eye and Tonks, were casting him concerned looks. How could they not when he almost fell off his broom as they flew over a slumbering London?

He focused on keeping his seat, on keeping his hands wrapped around the smooth wood of the broom's neck. He exhaled, slowly. The air coming out of him was like a burst of glittering, silver crystals. He wondered if they could, perhaps, fly a tad lower. When he asked, Mad-Eye shot that question out of the sky and into a river raging somewhere below.

Harry wished he had taken the extra coat his aunt had offered him as he was leaving, some five hours ago. And the gloves. _And_ the hat Dudley offered, no matter the fact it was an appalling shade of pink and orange he knew Dumbledore would adore. He didn't, though. The others were already watching him too closely. He didn't need to give them another reason question him.

 _'I don't even know what's happening,'_ Harry glanced at the land below, a slow smile creeping across his face as the city bled into a forested woodland that was mapped out in squares and rectangles. His attention shifted to the mages around him, then to the werewolf that was staring at him with a worried frown. _'Gods, I have to be careful. Remus's senses are too keen for my liking. Why does it have to be so cold out? Shit, he's watching again.'_

Beneath the heavy coat he was wearing, Harry couldn't stop the spasming muscles warring under his skin. His chest was starting to ache, a deep pain beginning to spread from the healed dream-injury. The edges of his vision blackened as a low, deep sound began to ring. When none of the others reacted, Harry realized _he_ was the only one hearing it.

As his eyes grew heavy, a surge of panic, of fear, clutched at his heart.

The dream world was calling him back.

"…Harry?" The Boy-Who-Lived blinked when his name cut through the droning notes echoing within his mind, tired eyes shifting to see Sirius and Remus flying on either side of him. His godfather's knee brushed his as Sirius angled his broom closer, voice soft as he said, "I have a Pepper-Up if you want it."

"I'll take it," Harry reached out and took the offered vial, ripped the cork stopper off with his teeth and spat it towards the ground below, and downed the drink with a grimace. At first nothing happened, his body still heavy and the bell still ringing low and deep in the background. Then a tendril of energy rose like a snake raising its head from the sand. Exhaling, Harry grinned. "Thanks, Sirius. I guess I didn't sleep all that well last night. How'd you know?"

"If what I've seen, you and _sleeping_ have never gotten on," Sirius flung an arm around his shoulder despite the sharp retorts coming from the others in the group. Harry grabbed onto that same arm, anchoring himself on his broom when his balance slipped. Sirius continued as if nothing had happened. "When you were a baby, you'd sometimes wake up _screaming_ in the middle of the night. All your toys would be floating in the air, whirling around you madly. I'm not all that surprised if your dreams still give you trouble. Lily always said her side of the family were light sleepers, that their dreams often tipped towards terror."

 _'My mum said that?'_ Harry tried to recall any instance from his childhood. There were times when he remembered being in the dream world he had dubbed _'Underfall,'_ terrified and scared and so very young. He didn't remember being an infant there, though. Then again, the _only_ thing he was able to recall from his earliest years was a flash of intense, green light. Now he knew what that bright, hellish light was. _'Did mum wander through Underfall, scared and running? Did she ever wake up in the middle of the night, terrified but mute in fear of something other than her family would be waiting for the slipup?'_

The group was angling towards the ground, for a back alleyway in the middle of muggle London. Harry landed on his feet, a natural-born flyer despite his new aversion towards heights. His body relaxed, the numbing cold from before easing away from his muscles and lungs as he stretched his arms over his head. A cold shiver lurked within his spine, an insidious reminder of the death he had walked away from. When a too-warm hand landed on his shoulder, Harry started.

Mad-Eye stared down at him, frowning. "Are you certain you're alright, boy?"

"Yeah," Harry offered a half-grin, emerald eyes darker than they had been when they set off. The call of Underfall came again and Harry swayed where he was standing. Blinking owlishly, the ravenette murmured, "I'm tired, that's all. Once we get…wherever we're going, and I get to sleep, I'll be fine. Good as new come tomorrow."

Mad-Eye's eyes narrowed. Harry kept his expression schooled.

"Then let's keep going."

0  
00

By the time Harry and the group, who were, as he now knew, part the Order of the Phoenix, arrived at their destination, Harry was confused. They stood in the middle of a muggle street, fancy homes stretching both ways as far as the eye could see. However, directly in front of him, Harry saw a hideous oversight in construction.

The two houses in front of him were 11 and 13.

The house which should have read '12' was missing.

He wasn't sure if this was some elaborate joke or if the muggles who built these houses had royally messed up. When Sirius came to rest at his side, his godfather's expression was even and his dark eyes a storm of unpleasant emotion. As Harry opened his mouth to question _what_ they were doing here, Sirius exhaled and squared his shoulders.

He handed him a piece of paper, which Harry glanced at, as he said, "Welcome to the home in which I was _lovingly_ raised, 12 Grimmauld Place."

The address of this place was printed in dark handwriting on the paper, the ink thick and rough but charming in its own way. Harry's gaze lifted as the houses in front of him began to move, the ground underneath it seeming to surge and pulse as dozens of enchantments came to life before his eyes. In a matter of seconds, a house labeled _'12'_ stood before him.

 _'What the fuck just happened?'_ Harry swallowed, uncertain as he said aloud, "What was that?"

"The Fidelius Charm," Remus murmured as he stepped up beside them. Harry eyed his ex-professor, listening attentively as the man said, "It's a spell which hides a location from anyone looking for it, be it mage or muggle. It is a complex charm, one which ensures the only way to uncover a hidden location is through the Keeper. Professor Flitwick mentioned it in your third year, I believe."

Harry did recall that lesson, in part. He had hoped to hide 4 Private Drive from the Dursleys, if only for a day. Sometimes he wondered how that would turn out if he ever managed to see his vision to reality. Vernon would be outraged. Harry stepped forward, lips curling into a little smile as Sirius led them through the front door. The man didn't seem bothered to be out in the open, though Harry was sure it had something to do with the home in question.

When they stepped into the entrance way, Harry was taken by surprise.

The inside of the building was dark and foreboding, the ceiling coated in layers of cobwebs and dust. Not a word was said as they eased their way through the foyer, many of the adults casting nervous looks toward a wall covered in a black drape. When Harry opened his mouth to ask about this one thing, Remus's hand clamped over his mouth.

A stumble-laden chin brushed the line of his jaw as Remus's lips brushed his ear. "Not a word, cub. Not out here where _she_ can overhear."

Harry's hair stood on end, a sense of unease curling through him as his personal space was invaded. Remus nudged him forward. Sirius took his hand, silently pulling him from the open space into what turned out to be the kitchen. As the door closed behind them, Harry did not have time to anticipate the armful of Hermione that threw itself into his arms.

He did, however, return the embrace with a wide smile. Her face pressed against his neck, her chest flush with his, as she cried, "Oh, Harry, I'm so glad you're here!"

Then Ron was walking up, all wide grins and gleaming eyes. "Ease up, Hermione. You'll smother him at this rate."

She pulled back, eyes wide. "Oh dear, I think you're right. Are you okay, Harry?"

The ravenette drew in a much-needed breath of fresh air. "I'm not dead, so I'm good.

"Others came and went, each of them greeting him happily. As Harry turned and eyed his two friends, Hermione inclined her head in silent understanding. The three of them left the room and made their way upstairs. As they left the adults behind, Hermione murmured, "I'm sorry we couldn't tell you anything useful over the last few weeks. The Order has been reading our mail. Dumbledore thinks someone might try and intercept our messages."

"Why?"

"Because of what happened last year, mate," Ron pointed out different places as they went. Harry took note of the bathroom as they walked and smiled when Hermione perk up as they passed the library. Ron continued, "The Headmaster thinks that Death Eaters might be keeping an eye on what we're doing since you publicly declared You-Know-Who is back and stronger than ever. He said he's trying to back sure there aren't any backfires. Whatever _that_ means."

A wave of dizziness swept through him, then. Harry's body pitched to the side.

Ron and Hermione both grabbed onto him, each holding one of his arms close to their body as the hallway began to waver. Blinking, Harry tried to calm his suddenly erratic breathing as the droning bell returned. The song was louder, now. Insistent. He barely heard Hermione asking him a question, her voice laced with worry.

When they entered another room, Harry was relieved to see a bed.

Ron helped him onto it as Hermione closed the door and spelled it shut. Then she muttered a silencing charm before turning to stare him down. Ron retreated to the bed across from the one Harry was sitting on, blue eyes cool and assessing as Harry asked, "And who's room is this?"

"Ours," Ron gestured to the space around them as he said, "When we're here, this is where we'll be sleeping. Tell us what's going on, Harry."

"Nothing's going on."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "You almost passed out in the hall, Harry."

Harry rubbed his hands over his face, back slumping and shouldering rolling forward. Long, almost-straight hair slid between pale fingers. How the hell could he explain this? It's not like he could say, _'Oh, I died a week ago and came back. How? No idea. Guess that's another fucked up part of my life, now!'_

They'd tell Dumbledore. Or _Sirius and Remus_.

"Harry," Hermione's voice was low and even, the whisper of reason carried on her tongue. His gaze shifted to her as she said, "We're worried about you. I've never seen you this worn down."

Harry let his hands slide over the fabric of his bed, brow furrowed. What could he possibly say?

Ron sat on his own twin-sized mattress on the other side of the room, eyes narrowed. Harry knew the ginger-haired teen was suspicious. Hermione, leaning against the door, had the same expression on her face. It was uncanny how the two had incautiously come to an agreement without even having to say anything to one another.

Harry's heaved a sigh as his focus shifted between the two as he said, "I haven't been able to sleep, okay? After what happened at the end of last year…"

Hermione's gaze softened within seconds as Ron looked away. The bushy-haired girl sat by his side, one arm wrapping around his shoulders as she said, "I'm sorry, Harry. I didn't mean to bring that up. How about you get some rest? Ron and I, we'll come and get you in a few hours."

"I'd like that."

Hermione let him lie down and tossed a quilt over him. She took his glasses when he handed them over and then dragged Ron from the room. Harry lied there for a long while, staring up at the ceiling as guilt ate at him. As last year's events came to mind, he knew what he said was partly true. Cedric's death _had_ weighed heavy on him.

He just didn't know why it felt like his heart had been torn from his chest when the older boy's lifeless body hit the floor. Exhaling slowly, Harry pushed the thoughts away. Cedric was dead. In a moment like this, thinking about him (about the laughter they shared, the late nights sitting up and discussing the trials, the way Cedric had held his hand and traced the lines on his palm) would do nothing for him. He chose not to think about it.

Harry rolled onto his side, one hand tucked under his cheek.

When he fell asleep, the tolling of a low, dark bell beckoned him into darkness.

00  
0

The shift from reality into Underfall was always jarring.

It was like freefalling, in a way. One moment he was asleep in his bed, body relaxing. The next moment Harry was plummeting, his body dragged out and _down_ from his body by the force of gravity and the call of the Dream Realm. Walls blurred past him and he couldn't tell the difference between the ceiling and floor as he dropped through a hallway-turned-pit.

Above him, he saw a cracked door with dim light spilling through it.

Then he hit the ground, rolling across a stone floor as the world around him shifted and changed.

He was no longer in Grimmauld Place, the dark wood replaced by aged and decrepit stone. Harry shuddered as he pushed himself on his hands and knees, heart pounding manically within the confines of his ribcage. Rising to his feet, the pale youth brushed his hair from his face.

When he turned, the sight that greeted him was monstrous.

Hundreds of dead bodies littered the floor, limbs torn apart and intestines splattered across the ground. He tried not to retch. Staggering backward, tripping over his own feet and landing on his backside, Harry couldn't stop the bile that surged up to burn the inside of his throat. When it coated his tongue, he turned and heaved what little was inside his stomach onto the old, cracked floor that made up the entirety of the room.

He crawled away, after that.

Harry knew he had to be quiet, now. He had to move with utmost care. Demons lurked in places like this, their bottomless eyes able to see clearly in the darkest of places. Trembling, Harry made his way to the edge of the room and pressed himself against the wall. Curling into himself, his forehead dropped to his knees as hot, sight-blurring moisture clouded his vision.

Slapping a hand over his mouth, he bit back the cries that threatened to emerge.

His chest hurt, more so now than it had when he was awake. Each deep inhale had pain shooting through his body. His hair, limp yet impossibly thick, fell like a veil around his face. Dark emerald eyes were half-lidded, his corneal arcus like a sea of Killing Curse green around his pupil, as he tried to contain the panic threatening to overwhelm him. The brilliant flare of green in his eyes, a ring of color whirling around his pupils, seemed to grow as a body hurtled across the floor.

When he saw the blood, Harry clamped both hands over his mouth.

From the doorway, the shadows churned and spilled across the ground.

* * *

 **Author's Note**

Five chapters, done and over with.

While this story might not bring joy and wonder to those who read it (I have, like, _eight_ reviews), I do hope everyone is enjoying this. It's a slow burn, after all. It's meant to drag out. I don't write much FanFiction these days, so getting into the groove is harder than I thought it would be. I know everyone prefers BOTS, but, at the moment, I'm having a hard time figuring out what I want to do with that story. After having been told, on many occasions, that it's like a _different_ story here on this site, writing it has become difficult. I do intend to get to it eventually, but, for the time being, I'm going to write on the one that brings me the most joy.

Which is _'Consuming Shadows.'_

There's something about this story which intrigues me. I haven't read anything like it, as of yet. The realm of a dreamer is a dangerous place. Nightmares and daydreams exist side-by-side. On a personal level, I tend to have more nightmares than I do _good_ dreams. I think that's partially responsible for this story. As it is, I hope everyone enjoyed the content of this chapter. I hope a few of you might leave a review because I like knowing what you think of the story as it progresses.

This chapter ended up being a lot longer than I thought it would be. The ending is also a bit of a cliffhanger, too. My bad.

So I hope you all enjoyed this chapter and I hope to see you when the next arrives!


	6. 25, November 2017

**Consuming Shadows**

* * *

 **Chapter Six**

* * *

 _'Why does this keep happening to me? Why!'_

Harry eyed the living shadow with an overwhelming sense of dread. Not even the sudden, unholy burning that erupted in his forehead, centered around his Curse Mark, could pull him from the terror gripping him in cold hands. It wasn't the first time his scar flared in this place, the once-silver marking turning a violent crimson as Harry's terror peaked to a threshold beyond name.

It didn't stop him from screaming, though. It didn't stop him from running, either.

Harry sprinted down the long hallway, labored breathing making it hard to concentrate on the task at hand. Behind him, the shadow screeched and barreled after him. Harry didn't dare look over his shoulder, not when the hallway was littered with upturned furniture. He did shield his face when the windows began to explode, one after another.

In the distance, he heard the distinct howl of a Nagaroja cut through the night.

There was gunfire and screaming. As Harry threw himself into a corridor off to his right, he caught a glimpse of sea of fire that spilled across the heavens. Rolling waves of fire seemed to undulate across the sky, blocking out the sky and the stars that were, forever, overlooking this hellish place.

It was difficult to say where he was, though. This building, it seemed to be a hotel of some kind. Harry spied an open courtyard out one window, the road leading up to it dropping dangerously into the city. He turned into another hallway, shouldered his way through a door and slammed it shut after himself. He shoved a closet in front of it, adrenaline pumping through his veins.

Staggering away from the blocked door, Harry rested his hands on his knees. When the pain in his brow increased, Harry clamped a hand over the old injury. Something hot and sticky coated his hand, crimson leaking between his fingers. He swore, furiously rubbing at the Mark with the sleeve of his sweater. It continued to bleed.

"No wonder it went after me," Harry leaned against a table in the room he had escaped into, listening as the shadow screeched beyond the door. He saw the shadow's _shadow_ pass the door, felt the cold that seemed to creep along with it. "Gotta get out of here. Gotta find a way out…"

He turned, gaze landing on the open window. He grinned.

Harry shot across the room, more than willing to throw himself out the window. He didn't pause to consider what floor he was on. He didn't think, for a second, that people simply didn't throw themselves out of windows _without a sense of caution_. No, Harry simply jumped.

His scream as he dropped several floors was shrill and loud. He landed on his shoulder, pain cutting through his body as he chocked on vomit and blood. Easing himself onto his knees, one hand cradling the throbbing joint, Harry blinked through a flood of tears. Forcing himself onto his knees, the ravenette knew he had to move. He had to run.

He took one step and crumbled, breath catching in his chest as he tried not to cry.

"Merlin, why did I do that?" Harry drew in another breath, eyes clenched shut as a shrill, inhuman screech broke the silence. He could hear windows shattering, could feel raw energy thrumming through the air. As he tried to gather his strength, Harry wasn't expecting his scar to flare or for a surge of dark, insidious energy to propel him forward. His eyes widened in shock, denial flaring in him as a dark shadow twisted around him and shoved him forward. _"What the hell!_ Hey, stop shoving me! Hey!"

The shadow didn't pause, not as the _other_ shadow was breaking through the front doors and spilling out onto the lawn. Harry's gaze snapped to the Shade, as he was now dubbing it. The dark energy was curling furiously through the air, hissing and crackling with dark magic that Harry had felt once before. Yet that was impossible. When the Shadow lunged forward with a screech, the Shade threw up a black, misty arm and formed a barrier the Shadow slammed into.

The Shade turned, slowly, to stare down its nose at Harry. Harry shot backwards with a mute scream and then he was running, feet carrying him across the torn and battered lawn and down the crumbling, broken stairwell. As he reached the bottom, he was surprised to see a familiar face amongst the chaos. Mint-green eyes clashed with Killing Curse emerald.

"Gema," her name rolled off his tongue and she smiled in response. Her gun was in its holster, a comforting object in this nightmare-laden world. He staggered towards her, happily collapsing into her arms when she reached out for him. "Merlin, I thought you died. That's your name, right? Gema? Did the others…"

"Some of us made it out, Hadrian," Gema murmured as she brushed a strand of hair from his face, her own strawberry blonde locks curling softly around a heart-shaped face. Her hand cupped his shoulder, warm against the air spreading through the limb. "We need to get this fixed and soon."

"Gate, I need a Gate," Harry didn't protest as she pulled his good arm over her shoulder. He did stagger when they took the first step, her voice low as she said, "We can't go to a Gate, Hadrian. It's too dangerous. You need to learn how to wake up without it."

"By dying?"

"No," Gema seemed to hesitate for a moment, mint-green irises glancing at him. "I thought you were gone until I saw you coming down those stairs. No body lies after dying here. Yet you're still among the living, somehow."

"Welcome to my life!" Harry laughed. Then he winced, groaning as pain sparked through his arm and down his back. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to continue, "I'm the bloody Boy-Who-Lived, the one kid the Dark Lord wants dead! Killing me isn't easy, it would seem."

She didn't respond, only continued to help drag him through the streets. Other people were running wild, terrified and unable to comprehend the hell they found themselves in. Harry felt bad for those people. Most of them wouldn't wake up. Drawing in a shaky breath, Harry said, "I didn't thank you, did I?"

Gema took him up a flight of stairs into the Police Station and the people in there were all ones he recognized from his last trip in this place. Even the teenager who had went around a corner like he was on a bike instead of his own feet was there, eyes dark and unreadable. As she helped him sit down, she said, "I don't need a 'thank you,' Hadrian. I did what I did because –"

"Enough, Gema," Mr. Visor was back, back ramrod straight as he came closer. "Go and fetch the medicine. Hadrian needs a FP for that shoulder of his."

"FP?"

"Fusion Pack," Mr. Visor stated calmly, voice even as he made his way across the room. As he stepped into the light, Harry noted how his hair had a redder sheen to it. The visor was still in place, the shotgun he had last time slung over his shoulder. "That shoulder of yours needs a quick repair. Can't send you back with a shattered bone, can we?"

"Who are you?"

Thin lips pressed into a tight line. "Don't worry about that, Hadrian."

Harry stood before this man, one hand clamped over the broken bones of his shoulder, panting yet determined. This bloody-haired man stared him down for a moment, masked eyes seeing too much Harry guessed, before sighing. The man had come to unspoken conclusion as he said, "Call me Hawthorne. As to how I know your name? I've been keeping tabs on you for a while, now."

"Why?"

"Someone asked me to," Hawthorne stated and then looked over his shoulder. "There you are, Gema. What took you so long?"

"Sorry, Chief," Gema handed over a gun-like instrument, one that had a glowing, earthy green vial inserted into it. Harry eased away, suddenly uneasy. Hawthorne's lips pressed into a tight line as Gema said, "It took a moment to find it. After this, we're out. We need to send out a raid party to get more supplies and medicine."

Hawthorne didn't seem to hear what Gema said as he held out his hand to Harry, silently demanding the injured limb even as Harry scooted away. "Don't be childish. Give me your arm, Hadrian."

"What is that?"

"A FP," Hawthorne held the gun up and the light caught the green vial. The man continued, "This will repair your shoulder. Now give me your arm."

"Thanks, but not happening," Harry barely had a moment to get the words out before Hawthorne moved, quick as a snake. An arm snaked around his waist and then Harry's feet were off the ground and he found himself caged within Hawthorne's arms. Gema lunged forward at the same time, removing Harry's hand from his throbbing shoulder as Harry cried out in shock, fear and pain. "Get off me! No, let me go!"

His sleeve was cut off and then the barrel of the FP was pressed against his shoulder. Gema shoved the side of her hand into his mouth just as Hawthorne pulled the trigger. The pain that came with that shot was a well of fire, one that surged through his veins and crushed through broken bone. Harry struggled against his living cage, his body on fire as the Fusion Pact coursed through his system.

Gema retreated, mint-green eyes wide.

As Harry began to calm, the pain fading, he blinked. "Why am I tired?"

A calloused hand stroked his hair, thick fingers rubbing his skull. Harry sank into Hawthorn's arms then, warmth tingling through his body as he spied the Shade standing outside. It was in the window, looking in. It was misty around the edges, just standing there. Harry's scar burned, then.

As his eyes closed, he wondered how long he'd been asleep. He wondered if he would wake up in Surrey or at the Grimmauld Place. Head lulling to the side, he heard Gema whisper, "She asked us to look after him, so why are you sending him back?"

Hawthorne was answering the question, though Harry couldn't hear the answer.

0  
00

The Order of the Phoenix was, without a doubt, an odd group. Already a week had passed, the days blending as the various members, and the children related, went about the old, darkened manor with a single task: _clean the house up_. Molly was the one who pushed this agenda, the redheaded matriarch determined _none_ of them live in a place so dark and dirty.

Harry tried his best to forget about Underfall and everything that happened there.

He tried to forget about Gema and her mint-green eyes.

He refused to think about Hawthorne.

Yet the Boy-Who-Lived couldn't shake the feeling that there was _something_ about those two that was vital he understand. He knew that they _knew_ something about him. They knew his name. He never told them his name, but, somehow, they knew what it was. He hadn't really thought about it, not until now. Then his thoughts shifted to something else:

The Shade.

The creature had arrived without any warning over than a flare of dark, insidious power. Harry tenderly touched his forehead, fingers ghosting over the scar cut across his brow. The edges seemed to be a tad longer, the bottom of the mark seeming to cut across the top of his nose. It still bled, from time-to-time.

Harry could still see the Shade in his mind, see its inky, black, misty body rising out of the shadow that had surrounded him. He could still feel the pain in his head as it curled around him, black magic curling tight against him. He could feel it shoving him, propelling him away from the building he had unwittingly found himself in. The building he had jumped out of like the idiot he was, a true Lion through-and-through.

"Harry?" The ravenette blinked, his attention shifting to the young redhead walking beside him. Ginny held his gaze for a moment and then she shook her head. "Seriously, Harry? Can't you pretend to pay attention when I'm talking to you?"

"Sorry, Gin," Harry offered a sheepish smile as he absently rubbed at the back of his head. His shoulder ached, muscles sore as he stretched them. "I just have a lot on my mind. What were you saying?"

"I was asking what you thought about this place."

Harry took a moment to consider the question. "It's a bit dreary, I think. Yet there's a beauty here, buried under all the dust. Sort of like a hidden gem, you know?"

From the look she gave him, Harry would say she _didn't_ know. He sighed. "There might be a dark history to this house, Gin, but the building itself is nice enough. Once clean, I'm sure it'll feel homier than it does now."

She didn't say anything to that. Harry wasn't expecting her to.

They parted ways in the next hallway, Ginny making her way downstairs for the kitchen. Harry kept to the path he was on, cleaning rag tucked in his pocket and a bottle of 'Multi-Purpose' cleaner in hand. As he eyed the ceiling, he knew he should have brought the duster along, too.

Too many cobwebs littered the highest corners of the house though he had yet to see an actual spider. He passed the library; he heard Hermione inside as she muttered to herself, her arms loaded with massive stacks of books that she was in the middle of reorganizing. Harry shook his head as he found a narrow stairwell at the end of the hall, one that he took to the next floor.

He wasn't expecting to find a House Elf in the hall, nor was he expecting the sheer hatred this elf cast his way. Harry stood there, shocked, as the elf stared him down. Then, after a moment, Harry found his voice and said, "I'm sorry to disturb you."

The elf blinked its huge, angry eyes. "Halfblood, Harry Potter. The Miss would be a right fit if she knew you, a mudblood lover, was in this house."

Harry shrugged. "I love all people, in my own way. Or perhaps I _don't_ love them enough?"

The elf blinked. Harry grinned and knelt in front of the old, ugly creature. "You know my name, but what of yours? What shall I call you?"

"Kreacher," the elf said without missing a meat. "I am Kreacher, caretaker of this place."

Harry offered a soft smile. "Well then, Caretaker Kreacher, can you point me in the direction of a place that needs a good cleaning?"

The elf vanished. Sighing, Harry rose to his feet and popped his back. He wondered what Dobby was up to, at this point. Was he cooking in the kitchens at Hogwarts or was he wandering the endless hallways with a too-large smile on his youthful face. When Kreacher reappeared, Harry blinked down at the elf.

"This way, Halfblood Potter," Kreacher turned and ambled down the hall. Harry followed after the old elf, a gentle smile pulling at the corners of his mouth as the old, ugly elf said, "Kreacher will find you something to clean."

* * *

 **Author's Note**

Over the last few days, I have done a few different updates.

I have a few minutes before I have to take off for work, so I hope this chapter finds you all in good spirits. The story is slowly pushing along, some of the main points are being dropped and the plot is beginning to open up. I'm sorry I didn't update sooner (my mum just got out of the hospital after being there a full month). I've been busy ensuring the house is fine, my job isn't swept away because I've missed so many days and that my WordPress account is somewhat 'recent' in the number of posts I have. 102, now. Posts, that is.

For those who might be interested in reading original content, just type WordPress and 93bnmill into google and it should bring me up without issue. My FanFiction account, my FictionPress account, and my WordPress (Wandering Worlds) should all show up. I try to keep myself busy, you know. So, with that said, I hope you all take some time to enjoy what I write and, as always, I look forward to hearing what you have to say!


	7. 01, December 2017

**Consuming Shadows**

* * *

 **Chapter Seven**

* * *

As Harry stalked through the endless hallways, one persistent question kept returning.

 _'Who asked them to look after me?'_ Gema and Hawthorne's conversation was a distant memory, something shrouded in distant voices and confusion. Harry could barely remember what had happened during his last trip in Underfall save for the medicine-loaded gun that had blasted a round of _"health"_ into his shoulder. As he made his way down a stairwell, he could still hear Gema's soft-spoken question, _"She asked us to look after him, so why are you sending him back?"_

Harry paused on the steps, one hand rubbing his throbbing brow. There was a tendril of pain that seemed to lurk always. It existed _just_ beneath the boiling irritation that was his Curse Mark, a smarting pain that refused to fade. He would have chalked it up to the Dark Lord, though Harry knew it wasn't him – in the last few nights, Harry's dreams have been Voldemort free.

 _"…why are you sending him back?"_ Harry groaned and sat on the steps, head buried between his hands. Why did he keep going back to that _one_ statement? The way she had said it, like he _had_ a choice? Stay in Underfall or in the Realm of the Wakeful? _"She asked us to look after him…"_

"Harry, mate?" Verdant irises, clouded over, brightened and Harry's gaze rose. Ron was standing on the bottom of the stairwell, one hand resting passively on the railing. Ginny was beside him, worry etched on her face. Harry offered a half-assed wave and then Ron was taking the steps three-at-a-time as he continued, "Oy, what's wrong? Your Mark? Or a nightmare?"

Harry waved off the question. "A headache, Ron. That's all."

"Then why are you sitting in the stairwell?"

"Because it's better than being in a room filled with screaming people?"

The siblings blinked at that admission and then Ron chuckled. "Yeah, definitely better."

He let Ron and Ginny drag him to his feet. Harry trailed behind them, Curse Mark a livid red that harbored a dull, irritating pain beneath. Harry combed his bangs over it, eyes narrowed in thought as Gema's face, mint-green eyes wide with worry, popped into his mind. Hawthorne and his bloody-midnight hair crept into his thoughts. Who _were_ those people, anyway?

 _'And why the bloody hell did they known my name?'_ Harry found himself being ushered into the kitchen where Molly, Merlin bless her, was cooking an enormous breakfast. The ravenette was mildly surprised to see Dumbledore sitting at the table with a cup of coffee in his hands, Fred and George sitting down the table from him with a book tucked between them. _'How did they know my name? Who asked them to look after me? I don't get it…'_

Harry sat and accepted breakfast with a grateful smile, his mind shifting to his aunt and cousin as he bit into the scrambled eggs. He wondered if the others had told Dumbledore that Petunia and Dudley would be going with him to pick up his school supplies or if they kept that to themselves. It wouldn't be all that surprising, really. Harry reached over and grabbed a glass of orange juice, sipping happily as it as his Headmaster watched him in silence.

When Harry was returning to his eggs, the man finally asked, "How are you feeling, Harry?"

Before he could answer, a steady hand landed on his shoulder. Harry twisted in his seat, a wide smile spreading across his face as Remus's kind face smiled down at him. Sirius was just behind the wolf, pants hanging low and shirtless. He swung an arm around the fully dressed Remus, a sharp smile spreading across his face when he caught Harry staring.

"I prefer to sleep naked, but Moony tends to have a _lot_ to say about that," Sirius plopped down in the seat next to Harry and dragged a plate of food towards himself without looking what was on it. Remus sighed. Harry stared, slack-jawed, at the two men before him as Remus turned to him and placed a finger under his jaw. The werewolf closed Harry's mouth as he said, "You have food in there, Harry. Chew _and then_ gawk. Have you been settling well?"

Harry chewed, swallowed and then said, "Yeah, about as well as can be expected. You?"

"Better, now," Remus placed some fruit, toast, and yogurt onto his own plate with a glass of milk on the side. Harry eyed the massive amount of egg on Sirius's plate, the food the man in question was scowling at, as Remus continued, "Now that this place is cleaner than before, my senses aren't as irritable. All that dust was wreaking havoc on my body."

"You mean it was _Sirius_ wreaking havoc –" Fred called out only to be silenced seconds after by his mother and a well-placed frying pan. Hermione, who was walking into the room, stopped and stared with a slack jaw. Remus, for his part, was looking embarrassed. Then Harry turned to him, voice incredulous as he demanded, "And what was all that stuff about you and my aunt almost getting fresh with one another!"

Remus held his hands up, eyes wide. "Blame _Siri_ for that. _He_ was the one who drugged her!"

On Harry's other side, Sirius muttered, "Even after all these years, she has a wicked arm. Merlin, my head _still_ hurts…"

Harry recalled, with clarity, his aunt hurling a vase at Sirius. He also recalled how it hit him perfectly in the back of the head, the vase shattering into hundreds of tiny pieces moments before his godfather's face got acquainted with his aunt's floor. The ravenette couldn't stop the snort that escaped or the way his lips quirked, a smile threatening to emerge.

He wondered how Vernon would take the broken vase. His smile slid off his face, then, and he turned to Dumbledore as he said, "I'd like to send an owl to my aunt sometime today. We left the house in quite a mess and my uncle can be a bit…overzealous about such things."

 _'Downright abusive, actually,'_ Harry was already pushing himself away from the table, food half-eaten. He needed to get a pen and some paper. He heard Remus call out to him, though he knew Hermione was following him out of the room. As he started making his way up the stairs, the curly-haired witched said, "You don't think he'd do anything to your aunt, do you?"

Harry paused at the landing, turning to look down at the teenager behind him. "I wouldn't put it past him, Hermione. If I'm not there…"

He shook his head. "I just need to send a letter to see if everything's okay."

"I have some paper in my room, pens too," Hermione offered and took the lead, her hand catching his with gentle care. Harry let the bushy-haired teen lead him to her room, one she had all to herself. When they entered, she left the door cracked open, "That's one of Molly's rules. If any of the boys are in a room with the girls, the door _must_ be open. Precautions, she said."

Harry understand the logic behind that. "Though I don't think she should worry about me."

"Does she know?" Hermione mused as she grabbed some loose-leaf, ruled paper out of her backpack. She tossed that onto the desk as she began fishing for her pens. "How many people are aware of your preferences, Harry? Not even _Ron_ knows."

"Because he'd freak out," Harry made his way to the desk, plopping down in the seat as she set out a serious of pens. He ran his fingers over them, marveling at the smooth, pencil-thin barrels that were muggle equipment. He pulled the cap off one pen, letting the sleek instrument twirl between his fingers as he said, "As much as I care, and as much as I value our friendship, he wouldn't understand. I'm _abnormal,_ as far as that area of life goes. Cho showed me as such."

"Harry," Hermione's hand landed on his shoulder, light, and adoring. He turned in his seat, green irises clashing with hers as she said, "You are _not_ abnormal, Harry James Potter. There's nothing wrong with being attracted by power. Cho wasn't strong enough for your taste. She was…"

"Her Core wasn't a match to Harry's," the teens looked to see Remus standing in the doorway, a thoughtful frown at home on his face. Amber eyes regarded them evenly, a light of understanding dawning in the werewolf's eyes. "I understand why you haven't told Ron. It took me years before I told James or Sirius, though Lily had always known. I never did tell Peter, though…"

Remus stepped into the room and closed the door behind himself. He sat on the edge of the bed, hands between his knees, as he said, "Certain _types_ of magically-imbued individuals find a partner in life-based off a person's Core and the magic they wield, though personality does play a large part. Makes romance a bit difficult. However, I can't but help but wonder how that's possible…"

Harry stared. Hermione was standing next to him, hand on his shoulder, as Remus stared the ravenette down with a darker hue in his eyes. It was the wolf inside Remus, Harry realized. Moony was _right there,_ just beneath Remus's skin. Swallowing, Harry looked between his ex-Professor and his best friend as a tendril of unease curled through his stomach.

"What's not possible?" Hermione finally dared whisper.

Remus's gaze turned to her. "Core compatibility is a trait among beasts or those who have bestial blood in their veins. Hagrid and I are the best examples, one of us being a half-breed and the other being infected by a werewolf."

"You didn't bite me, though," Harry pointed out, more confused now than before. Remus hummed in agreement before adding, "That's right. In your second year, I came close to it. I hadn't, though. Siri stopped me. Snape, too. Yet I also know Lily was a muggleborn witch and James was a wizard without any creature inheritance in his bloodline…"

 _"She asked to look after him, so why are you sending him away?"_ Harry closed his eyes as those words came to his mind, once again forcing themselves into the middle of his thoughts. He took a deep breath and leveled an uneasy look on Remus as Gema's ghostly voice whispered in his mind, _"Why are you sending him back? She asked us to look after him…"_

"Have you heard of a place called Underfall?"

Remus's gaze snapped to him with such ferocity that Harry recoiled in shock, the amber in his eyes flaring with such force that Harry knew could _only_ be attributed to a full moon. Only it was nearing a _new moon,_ which was reason enough for Harry to yelp when he found the werewolf slamming into him second's after. In a rush of movement, the three of them were on the ground with Remus caging them there.

As Hermione's mouth opened, Remus slapped a hand across her lips. _"Where_ _did you hear about Underfall?"_

The voice that spoke wasn't the smooth honey he associated with Remus. It was dark and rough, gravel-thick like a man who hadn't spoken in many years. Harry's heart pounded, his eyes wide as he stared up at his ex-Professor with a new sense of understanding. When Harry didn't respond, a hand fisted in his hand and forced him to bear his throat. A hot breath ghosted the underside of his ear as Moony growled, _"How do you know about that place, pup?"_

Hermione whimpered. Harry's mind was hurtling through countless passages, the danger of the situation suddenly crisp and too-clear. He tilted his head to the side, rubbing his cheek against the wolf's as he murmured, "Sometimes, when I'm sleeping, I catch glimpses of it. I don't know how it happens, only that it does."

When sharp teeth nipped his ear, Harry forced his body to go still. Hermione's eyes were wide and glassy, her hand trembling when she grabbed his. Harry could sense the terror coming from her in waves, could sense how it unsettled the wolf above them as Harry pressed, "You're scaring one of your pups, Moony. Is that what you want? Do you _want_ to frighten us?"

When Moony pulled back, now sitting on their hips, Harry was surprised at the subtle changes on this man's body. The ears were the first thing Harry noted – they were pointed at the tips, like an elf yet not the same. The amber in the eyes was molten, alive and burning. When the hand silencing Hermione withdrew, sharp claws grazed her lips with utmost care.

"No," Moony rumbled after a moment. "That is not what we want."

Harry squeezed Hermione's hand, offering silent comfort as he said, "You do know about that place, then. About –"

"Do not speak its name," Moony snarled, amber eyes flashing. Harry snapped his mouth shut. In a breath of a moment, Moony was off them and pacing the floor. His movements were swifter, his hair curling a tad more at the ends as he said, "We know of that place. Anyone who dreams awake knows. It is a curse. A nightmare one cannot awaken from. It will haunt all who escape."

The amber was steadily turning brown, the claws retracting. Harry stood, slow, and helped Hermione to her feet as Remus murmured, "It is where lycanthropy originated, Harry. It is where the spirit wolf and mankind made their first contact. I apologize for Moony. He can get…"

"Temperamental?"

"Yes," Remus offered an empty smile. "He had the same reaction when Lily asked about…"

Now Remus's gaze was on him and Harry had a distinct feeling he might have let something slip he shouldn't have. Remus circled them, amber-brown eyes sweeping across his body as he finally said, "What are the odds that the very place Lily asked us about is the same _you_ would? What is the probability of that happening?

"When you sleep," Remus paused, then. Harry met the curious stare, then. His mind was whirling, and then he latched onto a train of thought as he interrupted Remus as the man opened his mouth with a hint of suspicion in his eyes. "You said Moony was a _spirit,_ right?"

"Yes, but –"

Harry waved the words off, voice lower as he said, "Well, maybe this has something to do with the Dark Lord! Dumbledore said Voldemort was a _spirit_ for a long time, Remus! Maybe this place, the one I've seen in my dreams, are from the Dark Lord. Maybe, when I'm asleep, I'm glimpsing the place where his soul had escaped to until it was strong enough to return _to our world!"_

 _'I'm bullshitting this like a drug-induced insomniac,'_ Harry knew Remus was considering the words as Harry spoke them, could tell he was internally talking to Moony about it. He watched as Remus's lips pressed into a thin line, a sign he was ready to combat what Harry was saying, so the ravenette said, "Think about it, Remus! For the last few years, I've been able to pick up on what the Dark Lord's doing. I know when he's near. So maybe the night he tried to kill me, when he _destroyed himself,_ the Killing Curse backfired and sent him to that place. The mark on my forehead, it's a _link_ between Voldemort, me and Underfall. You said it yourself. Anything that escapes from that place is haunted by it. I'm just the victim getting caught in the backfire."

 _'Bullshit piled upon more bullshit! Please buy it, Remus! Bite into the ploy!'_

After a moment, Remus closed his eyes. "That does make sense. It would explain everything…"

Harry watched him carefully, oblivious to how Hermione was staring at him. His attention was focused wholly on the man across from him, on silently _willing_ the wolf and the man to eat his theory and _accept it_. When Remus relaxed, the stress and worry in his eyes fading, Harry nearly whooped with joy. Instead he caught Remus by his forearm, voice low as he asked, "Can we keep this between us three? I don't want the others worrying about what this could mean…"

Remus settled a hand on his head, brown-amber eyes kind. "That'd be for the best, for now."

Harry knew that meant _'we'll have to tell them eventually, but I'll leave the details to you'_ even as Remus excused himself from the room. Harry sank onto the edge of the bed, suddenly feeling far more light now than he had moments before. He still felt Hermione's gaze on him, could feel her dissecting him piece-by-pice the longer he refused to look at her.

Then, after a moment of silence, she spoke.

"What the hell is going on, Harry?"

He looked over at her, at the worry shining in her eyes. Harry knew Remus _knew_ he would tell her because what _didn't_ Hermione know about him. Sighing, Harry turned to face her fully. He met her gaze, not quite sure how to put anything he'd been through into words.

So he began the only way he knew how.

He started from the beginning.

* * *

 **Author's Note**

How shit, talk about one hell of a chapter!

So much happens here, so much is hinted at. So much _lies_. Sort of. Remus and Moony can be downright scary, though. I wasn't expecting the entire 'werewolf springs to the front and demands answers' when I was writing this. It happened on its own. My brain knows how to push things forward, how to make connections. Even if Harry isn't being _entirely_ honest. Underfall has been mentioned once again, though not in the way any of us were likely thinking.

Though I have to give Harry his due for being able to pull _that_ explanation of utter bullshit from his ass. I don't think I'd be able to do something like in such a short span of time, let alone without the notice. So the next chapter, Harry will explain "what's going on" to Hermione. Because, honestly, what _doesn't_ she know? She's the brightest witch of Harry's generation for a reason.

Anything could happen. The question is - what do all of _you_ think will happen. What truths will be revealed and what will Harry keep to himself?

Let me know what you think!

Until next time, my darlings!


	8. 05, October 2018

**Consuming Shadows**

* * *

 **Chapter Eight**

* * *

 _Hadrian Potter was a small, hungry child._

 _He was used to being overlooked. He was used to fending for himself whenever he wasn't under the Dursleys thumb. It was simply a part of his life. The Laws of Nature were strict – only those who fought to survive_ would _survive. He knew that, and, no matter how unfair it was, Hadrian knew it was simply how things were in the world he lived in._

 _That didn't mean he liked it, though. He never liked being hungry._

 _His aunt and uncle had sent him away with an empty stomach, angry about something or another they thought he did he was certain he hadn't done. He couldn't make glass shatter. No one could scream that loudly. He was sent out, with Dudley, on a fieldtrip with his school with hunger on his heel no matter how much he protested the unfairness._

 _His cheek still stung from where his uncle had hit him._

 _He had seen the horror in Aunt Tuni's eyes, knew she was powerless. He forgave her, Dudley too, because neither of them could talk back to Vernon Dursley. Vernon was the Man of the House. No one talked back to the Man of the House. His uncle reminded him of that often enough, though Hadrian said little in return. The Laws were simple. To be unseen, he had to be silent._

 _Hadrian hadn't expected the museum to be so large, though. The rooms were open and spacious, the doorways nothing more than large and empty holes with swooping tops. Displays lined the walls and the floor, each protected by red cord attached to thick, metal stands. He wondered what would happen if he stuck his hand over the barrier._

 _Would something happen? Would the old and worn paintings reveal their secrets to him?_

 _He doubted it, though he entertained the idea like he did with the flying motorcycle. The small boy didn't even notice when he was separated from the rest of his class, so caught up in his thoughts as he was. One moment he was looking at a beautiful, if not scary, picture of a woman being burned alive on a pole in the middle of a street – and the next, he looked over to ask his teacher a question and realized he was by himself. No one else was in the room._

 _Hadrian blinked, confused. Where had everyone gone?_

 _He frowned. They had left him behind. Again._

 _Hadrian wasn't all that surprised. It wouldn't be the first, or last, time the teacher would leave him behind simply because they forgot he was there. It only made sense they left the room, thinking he was in the huddle of children – he was, after all, the smallest boy in his year. He turned back to the painting, eyeing how the tied-up-woman was looking up at the sky. She seemed to be peaceful – odd, for a burning woman. He was sure she'd be screaming._

 _"Are you lost?" Hadrian looked away from the painting when the voice came to him, low and soft and comforting. There was a woman standing across from him, dressed in a white summer dress, but he couldn't really make out what she looked like. If he focused too hard, she would blur and distort. His head was starting to hurt. The woman leaned in, her hands on her knees. "Did the others leave you behind again, Hadrian?"_

 _"Yes, ma'am," Hadrian turned to face her fully, feeling oddly at peace despite her blurry figure and wild hair. He thought it would look like a forest fire if she stepped into the light. "It's okay, though. Mrs. Pennyworth sometimes forgets I'm smaller than the others."_

 _"Does she now?" This woman offered him her hand. Hadrian took it. The pressure on his hand was gentle, the fingers long and cool. He wondered if she stuck her hand in the water fountain in the last room even if the sign told them not too. "We should go and find her. It wouldn't be good to be caught in here overnight."_

 _"It wouldn't?" Hadrian blinked up at this woman, his grip tightening on her hand. She squeezed his fingers in return, and he got a vague impression she was smiling at him as she said, "Places like this, where things so old and filled with history, have a soul, Hadrian. They come to life."_

 _"The paintings come to life?"_

 _"Oh, yes! They'll move from one picture to the next, when no one's here to see," Hadrian grinned at that thought, thinking of the knights from one picture going to save the woman burning on a stake. He scooted closer to her, eyes wide as she said, "They can talk too, you know? Not always, but sometimes. Especially at night when they're all alone and sure no one will hear."_

 _"I won't tell!" Hadrian tugged on her hand, swinging around so he stood before her. "Can I? Can I see them move and talk and there's no adults to tattle on them?"_

 _Her head tilted to the side. "I think you'll see plenty of that, when you're older."_

 _"I will?"_

 _"Yes, I'm sure of it."_

 _Hadrian was happy with that, content to let this woman lead him through the vast museum and to hear the history behind the paintings. She would point them out as they go, stopping when one caught his eye. Mrs. Pennyworth had yet to be found. His classmates seemed to have vanished, too, though Hadrian didn't mind. This woman was a lot nicer than all of them combined._

 _._

Harry paused, a soft smile spreading across his face as he recalled the ghostly woman. Even now, he couldn't really say who she was. His gaze slid to Hermione, watching as her eyes softened and a gentle smile spread across her face. She was enjoying the retelling of his time with the ghost, content in the knowledge this unnamed woman had looked after him.

Sometimes he wished she was around, that she took him from the Dursleys. He could have lived like a normal boy, happy and content with a ghost who showed him unconditional love. Silence filled the space between them, neither speaking. Hermione sat on the edge of his bed, hands between her knees. He wondered if she had endless amounts of homework rattling in her head.

"What happened?"

Harry blinked. Then he sighed. "There was an intruder. He had a bomb strapped to his chest and he was screaming he'd kill everyone if security didn't call his kids and tell 'em how sorry he was."

Hermione's eyes widened. Harry remembered that moment, how the ghostly woman had caught him by the shoulders and held him to her chest as he hid behind a display. He remembered how she smelled, something rich and floral with a hint of citrus. He could still see how the light gleamed off the man's gun, how his face was pale and his eyes bloodshot. Harry shook his head.

"Turns out his kids died years ago in a car crash," he paced across the room, happy for the sweater encasing him in warmth. He turned on his heel and stopped, gaze on the wall. "They were going to the museum, actually. A truck ran a red light and slammed into the passenger side. His wife, pregnant at the time, and their two kids, died. He lived."

 _'Survivor's Guilt,'_ the ghost had whispered in his ear after the police had arrived.

He remembered asking what it was. He couldn't remember what she had said, though he knew what it was. Sometimes, when he was alone, he understood how that man felt. His own parents died, but the curse that killed them couldn't kill _him._ Knowing they died, yet, somehow, he lived…

Harry turned back to Hermione. "It was when the police where leading him away."

The man had been laughing, manically. Yelling, begging for forgiveness. Then a bomb went off, people were on the ground, there was bloody everywhere, and his ears had _rung_ for hours. As he related this part of the story, Hermione's eyes were wide, and her hands over her mouth.

A cold, bitter smile spread across his face.

.

 _He couldn't hear anything. His head hurt!_

 _Hadrian trembled and shook as he crawled out of the rubble, eyes squeezed shut as an awful sound echoed in his head. He rubbed one hand at his ear, trying to make it go away. It wouldn't, though. Green eyes slowly opened and all around him was ruin and still, unmoving bodies._

 _He didn't recognize any of them. His teacher wasn't there. His classmates weren't there. Dudley wasn't there! Standing upright, Hadrian turned in a fast circle as a panicked, broken cry lodged in his throat. Everything was dark and dreary, the color all bleached away. He didn't like it!_

 _Before he could call out for help, a hand slapped over his mouth. "Not a word, child."_

 _Hadrian stilled, eyes wide. He trembled. There was a man behind him, someone tall who had to bend over to talk in his ear. Or was the man crouching behind him? The small boy couldn't tell, not when he stared straight ahead with watering eyes. Swallowing, the boy tried to ease the dry pain building in his throat._

 _"I'm going to remove my hand. No talking, understand?" Hadrian nodded, saying, without words, that he did understand. He wouldn't say anything! When the hand moved, Hadrian whipped around and stopped to stare. A man was in front of him, dressed in ripped-up jeans and an equally torn shirt. There was a darkness to this man's gaze. "Those eyes…"_

 _Rough fingers caressed the underside of his eyes, the tips of the fingers, and the nails, black. It was the man's bottomless gaze that drew him. He was staring into a void and it was looking back at him, cold and cruel. A slow, hard smile spread across the man's face. "How I hate them…"_

 _._

Hermione interrupted. "Wait, he hated your _eyes?"_

"Yeah," Harry sat back, uncomfortable. "A common theme. Everyone has something to say."

Harry couldn't count how many people were fixated on his eyes. His own aunt had a hard time looking him in the eye, always seeing his mother staring back at her. Sirius and Remus were much the same, a deep sorrow rising in them. Even _Snape_ often wouldn't look him in the eye for long periods of time, more interested in sneering at him without really _looking_ at him.

Then, in Underfall, the comment of his eyes would always pop up.

His thoughts shifted to Remus and his mum and Underfall. His _mum_ knew about that place! Had known. Remus knew about it, too. Knew _Harry_ knew about it, that his mum knew about it, but he was playing along. Harry started to pace, thoughts whirling as Harry continued, "That's how it all started, anyway. I was on verge of death, 'Mione. That's how I got there."

"And you think _Voldemort_ has something to do with that?"

Harry considered lying to her. When her eyes narrowed, Harry knew it wouldn't work.

"It's possible," Harry relented, looking towards the door. His mind shifted to Gema and her Chief, to the creatures and monsters and the Shadow and his Shade that felt familiar. He turned to her, voice low as he said, "It's possible, but I think there's more to it. Remus said my _mum_ asked him about Underfall. My mum didn't have a _curse mark,_ Hermione…"

He saw the understanding in her eyes, the way her mouth parted in a little 'o' of surprise. She stepped closer, their heads tucked close, as she murmured, "Do you think?"

"I do," Harry paused, head snapping towards the door when the knob rattled. A second after, Ron and Ginny were coming into the room. Both paused, expressions blank. Harry knew why, seeing how close he and Hermione stood together. Torsos almost touching, hands ghosting, her hair grazing his cheeks. Harry offered a sharp smile. "I think we can continue this later. Without an audience. Wouldn't you agree, 'Mione?"

Ron's jaw dropped. Ginny looked like she wanted to punch something. Or _someone._

Harry stepped past Hermione and breezed between the two redheads as he said, "Come on, let's get something _hot_ to eat. It's too damn cold in this place!"

.

.

The weeks passed, slowly.

Harry and the others worked hard to clean the place, each student counting down the days until they could return to Hogwarts and get away from Mrs. Weasley and her desire to clean. They would be leaving in the morning. Harry, however, wasn't thinking about Hogwarts or the students or his upcoming classes – he focused on _surviving,_ blood pumping through his veins as he fled through a monster-filled graveyard where a blood-red sky stared down at him.

He was back in Underfall, which wasn't much of a surprise.

The graveyard was massive, sprawling in every conceivable direction he could run. Most of the graves were old, writing worn off and covered in thick layers of ivy and moss. As he leapt over a headstone, he couldn't help but be thankful there weren't buildings for him to jump out of this time around. A broken, or shattered, shoulder wasn't something he wanted to deal with.

In the background, something screeched – the sound was low and long, echoing.

Harry swore. There was no Gema or Hawthorne, no rebellion out raiding supplies. Not in a place where the dead slept, anyway. He wondered if they knew he had crossed back into this hellish world, if they knew he was fleeing through a cemetery as zombie-like monsters howled and snapped at his heels. If they didn't, he prayed they would find out and come and get him.

If they knew he was here and did nothing, he hoped someone shot them.

A monster leapt through the air, landing directly in front of him. Then it was gone, breaking apart into a thousand particles of dark color. Harry darted to the side, knowing better to linger and stare when something _else_ stalked after him. In the corner of his vision, the Shade flickered to life before vanishing into some other dark corner of the graveyard.

Harry wanted to curse it more than the monsters. He could feel its power wrapping around him, feel his brow burn and his mind slow. When the pain spiked, it was almost as if he had fallen into quicksand and had to forcibly crawl to safety. Every time the pain hit, the Shade appeared.

Then it was gone, as if it never existed.

Shadow, the Nagaroja that stalked him, was relentless.

Harry didn't know if the thing had a name or not. He didn't know why it hunted him, didn't know anything more about it other than it was attracted to blood (and to him, for some ungodly reason he couldn't understand). It was dangerous. It also was waging a war against Harry's own Shade, the two continuously colliding every time Shadow closed in on Harry's location.

Which meant his Shade was connected to him, connected to his Curse Mark. It was the only explanation Harry could think of, given how much the scar hurt and burned when it appeared from the darkness around him. Harry knew it was nearby, keeping a distance due to the pain it often inflicted upon him just by existing.

Harry kept running, praying the wound on his forehead wouldn't erupt in a flow of blood. Shade's sudden appearance had made the Mark scream in retaliation, but Shade had retreated rapidly. If he paid enough attention, he could feel Shade's focus on him. Harry could sense it _watching_.

"Merlin, this is like the _first_ time I was here," Harry slowed, panting as he cast a quick look around his surroundings. The Nagaroji weren't in the area. He couldn't see their impossible, hulking forms in the distance or anywhere around him. He could, however, pinpoint a few of the undead ambling, jerkily, after him. "Yep. Just like the first time around. 'Cept I'm older. And taller…"

There wasn't quite anything more terrifying than a decaying corpse lunging for you when you were half its height. There also wasn't anything more hilarious than seeing an undead, smelly corpse face-planting the ground and losing its head over it. Literally. It was one of his fondest memories considering how much the fucker had scared him shitless, in that one moment.

Harry kept moving, knowing it was beyond stupid to stay in one spot in Underfall.

He kept moving, gaze sweeping across the vast, rolling landscape. In the distance, he could see the impossibly tall, iron fence of the barrier separating the cemetery from the rest of nightmarish city he was in. When he spied the flame-shaped symbols woven into the pointed, sphere-like protrusions rising up from the fence, a wave of dread filled his stomach.

He was either in First Fire or in Heritage Hill, which existed in a place further down in Underfall than he would normally find himself. The knowledge he was within the _second tier_ of Underfall, that he had somehow landed in _Ondra's Rise,_ told him he was in a part of Underfall he _shouldn't_ be in. Only once had he found his way into this part of the nightmarish hell he dreamed himself into, but it had been years ago. Luck alone saved him from a grizzly death.

Looking around himself, Harry could see the graveyard he was in spanned both ways. If he could see the Ira's Crown, the damn _wall_ that split only _one_ graveyard into two parts, Harry knew there were only _two places_ in Underfall he could possibly be.

First Fire or Heritage Hill. Neither were places he wanted to be, though First Fire was the better of the two – First Fire was the _heart_ of Underfall, and, at its center, where the ghost of a once-busy market resided, a Gate stood. Heritage Hill, however? No Gate ever stood there, the energy in the area, the Nagaroja too numerous, for one to form. Harry prayed he was in First Fire.

As he made his way to the wall, following it along until he saw the arch that led _away_ from the graves and the tight corners, his heart sank. The tall, brick and stone buildings weren't the white marble he knew to be associated with First Fire, had heard enough stories from the few people he had encountered over the years to know the different districts and their key traits.

Seeing the ivy and vines clinging to the buildings, the buildings built of stone and rock and brick, the pathways curving before vanishing from sight, Harry knew this was Heritage Hill. As he stepped out of the cemetery, he wasn't expecting to turn and see familiar, mint-green eyes. The owner of those eyes paused, sword strapped at her hip, dressed in loose, black clothing, stared at him with a slack jaw.

"Hadrian?" Gema closed the space between them, reaching out and grabbing his hand.

Harry blinked. Then he grinned. "Yo, Gema. Nice weather we're having, no?"

She scowled in response, tugging him with her by the hand. His scar was prickling as she motioned for him to be quiet. Harry followed in her footsteps, wondering how often she was in this place. She was _always_ around, when he dreamed. He doubted they slept at the same time, _every_ time, but the only other option would be that she, and maybe Hawthorne, were _residents,_ of Underfall.

His Shade stalked after them, his Mark pulsing.

Gema led him to an open square, the buildings around them stacked close together. A church rested on the far end of the clearing, the bell in its tower swaying. The Shade was stalking along the edge of his vision, agitated. Then, when the scar on his brow flared, Harry nearly fell.

Gema's hands were the only thing that steadied him.

"Hadrian Potter," the deep, rumbling voice caught Harry by surprise. He could feel the scar on his brow lighting up, could feel Gema tensing at his side. He didn't need to turn around to know who was advancing, could sense the Dark wizard even as the man murmured, "Once more we are in a place of shadow, Hadrian Potter. You, the Boy-Who-Lived…"

Harry turned, shifting so he stood in front of the mint-green-eyed girl as Voldemort, Dark Lord of Magical Britain, crimson eyes blazing in a pale face, stood across the clearing from him. The man's voice was deceptively soft, seemingly unthreatening, as he said, "Tell me, child, what nightmare have you drawn me into?"

* * *

 **Author's Note**

Gods, it's been _too_ long since my last update.

Things have been crazy. My uncle died last week, I've been working through odd hours at work, and I've been working on a new hobby called acrylic pouring. I've made, like, _nine_ paintings. I've been getting better with each I create. I have a few videos up on YouTube about it, actually! It's a good way to enjoy myself and I can keep a record of my work, on that end, in reach (there's a Town Wide Garage Sale coming up, and I hope to sell a few of them at it). If you're interested in seeing those paintings, just look up Britta Nicole Miller in YouTube. I should pop up. I have a large array of different things I've been doing - painting, videos on druidry and paganism (and I have one about magical misconceptions I'm working on _now,_ which, honestly, I am _super_ excited about given my love of Harry Potter), a few video games, a few stories, and just a bunch of random shit that makes no sense.

Its there, if you want to see any of the crazy stuff that's _me_ outside of my fanfiction.

Anyway, this chapter was long overdue. I've been looking through the different stories, trying to figure out what I want to do. I've been having a hard time _writing,_ lately. Hence my jump into art. I can still be creative while also trying to figure out what I want to do with my fanfics. I want to write them, but there's just so _many_ of them! And none of them are finished, save for one that was just a piece of flash-fiction (sort of).

But, yeah, here's this update!

Now I just gotta go to the _other_ stories and try to determine what the fuck I'm supposed to do with them.


	9. 25, January 2019

**Consuming Shadows**

* * *

 **Chapter Nine**

* * *

It wasn't often Harry found himself torn between too many questions that wanted an answer at the same time – why the _fuck_ did he keep running into Gema and why the _bloody hell_ was Voldemort in Underfall? Why was he always _cold?_ Why was he never hungry? Why did he keep finding his way _into_ Underfall, over and over and _over_ again? What did Remus know? Why the hell did his _mum_ ask Remus about Underfall, in the first place? Who the hell did Hawthorne and Gema make a promise to when it came to _his_ safety?

Why was he even asking these questions when _bloody zombies_ were coming at them?

Harry didn't hesitate– he grabbed the Dark Lord by the hand, then grabbed Gema's, turned, and _ran._ One let out a curse, the other a sharp intake of breath. Then the zombies were there, _dozens_ of the ugly fuckers coming from all directions as an unearthly, horrifyingly familiar screech cut the silence. The teen wanted to cry, but he was fresh out of tears, too.

The Dark Lord's hand was a lot warmer than Harry thought it would be. Hotter than Gema's.

Harry pushed _that_ thought out of his mind as he dragged the two through the graveyard, noting, absently, how it was a _similar_ location he and the Dark Lord would meet again. It wasn't a thought he was overly pleased with, but, as the man began to pick up on the urgency he and Gema bore with justified terror, he picked up his pace. The Dark Lord swore when one nasty, half-rotten zombie lunged out at them from behind a bush, lower jaw missing.

Gema shot the ugly fucker in the face. What was left of its head exploded.

"Potter, what's going on?" Voldemort caught him by the forearm once they were out of the cemetery, whipping him around to face him. The man's gaze was darting over the street, then he was tensing when the horrifying screech cut through the silence. Closer, this time. The Dark Lord's gaze snapped to the shadows around them as he hissed, _"What manner of trickery is this?"_

Harry yanked the man, forcing them into another full-out run as the dead came stumbling out between the buildings. Gema was running ahead, pausing for a fraction of a second to blast another dead-thing in the head. Harry jumped over its body, the Dark Lord following suit, before he yelled to his somewhat-friend, "Gema, where the hell are we going!"

She led them onto another street as she said, "Deeper into the town. We need to pass over a ley line. Or get in a safe zone. I can get in touch with Hawthorne, then. He'll get us out of this!"

That wasn't all that reassuring.

Harry kept that thought to himself as they made their way through the streets, the Dark Lord's hand in his as Gema led the way. Harry kept up with her, countless years of running leaving him strong and capable as they fled from the undead. The distant howl of the Nagaroji echoed, a chilling reminder that the undead was the least of their troubles. They needed to get somewhere safe, Dark Lord or no.

Voldemort didn't have power in a place like this, anyway. Harry didn't, either.

Shit, he needed to get Voldi through a Gate. As they rounded another corner, he threw that comment towards Gema. As she turned, shooting another undead that was catching up, she swore, and then said, "That's _really_ not my priority, Harry!"

Voldemort's hand tightened around his as they made their way around another bend. Harry wondered why his scar wasn't screaming in pain. In the graveyard, when the Dark Lord had been revived, the man simply had to _touch_ him to make him scream in agony. Now, in this nightmarish world, they were…holding hands? There was only a faint, buzzing _energy_ focused directly under the Curse Mark – not pain, but noticeable. That was odd, certainly. It was almost…pleasant.

It wasn't long before Gema ushered them into a building, muttering about sealing the doors as they found a secure room to hide in. Voldemort pulled his hand free, expression flat. Harry held up his hands in defense, voice even as he said, "No harm. No foul."

The Dark Lord leveled a look on him but didn't say anything. Harry shook his head. The man was already turning, gaze sweeping over the room. Then he was moving, fingers ghosting over walls and sheet-covered furniture. Harry watched, bemused.

"I haven't _drawn_ you into a nightmare, by the way," Harry shot a look at the Dark Lord, watching as the man tossed a look out a window where the undead roamed. Regardless of the situation, the man looked calm enough. Composed. Unconcerned. The man's unearthly red gaze landed on him as Harry said, "You asked, earlier. About what _'nightmare'_ I pulled you into. This isn't a nightmare. It'd be _nice_ if it was. Cause _dying_ in this place sucks. Or getting hurt…"

 _"Dying_ here?" Voldemort prodded.

Gema shot them a look, a warning in her gaze, but Harry pressed on, "Dying here, in this place, is dying in the waking world. You're _dreaming,_ you know that, right?"

Harry knew Voldemort's attention was on him even if he wasn't _looking_ at him. There was a sense of the older wizard being hyper-aware of him, a sort of _itch_ that burned within his Mark. Harry crossed the room to pause by a window, looking out into the darkness as he said, "You're in a place of dreams. A place of shadows and darkness, a place where the sun never rises…"

"How did I get here?"

Harry placed a hand on the windowsill as the Dark Lord's shadow fell over him, the man's body warmth washing over him in waves. Turning, looking up into a crimson gaze, Harry murmured, "I think you're here because of me, somehow. I'm not sure how it works, but…"

Maybe there was a truth to his words when he bullshitted his knowledge of this place to Remus, that the Dark Lord had, somehow, made it possible. Yet Voldemort didn't know where 'here' was, so that made it less likely. Frowning, Harry continued, "It may have something to do with the ritual you used to come back. You used my blood. Maybe that was enough…"

"He has your _blood?"_ Harry started as Gema grabbed his wrist, tripping over his feet as she pulled him around to face her. Mint-green irises were too bright. Her voice dropped as she said, "Please tell me you're _joking,_ Hadrian."

Harry shook his head. "No, he has my blood. It's in him, now. It was part of a Resurrection Ritual."

"How do I get out of here?" Voldemort was pacing, eyeing the ever-dark sky.

Harry pulled away from Gema, looking out the window the Dark Lord was by. "You have to get through a Gate. There's one in First Fire. It's dangerous, though. Getting there, I mean."

"I'm no stranger to peril, Potter," the Dark Lord leveled a stern look on him, pale flesh making the crimson of his irises hellish. Harry looked away, conscious of how the man was pacing behind him as Gema worked on getting a message out to her boss. She was pale, too pale. Troubled.

He needed to get the Dark Lord out of this place. Harry knew the war could end if he let the man perish here, but death, in this place…he didn't wish that fate on anyone. Not even Voldemort. If he dwelled on the thought too much, he could hear another's dark, demented laughter, a ghost of a memory. Dark memories stirred at the back of his mind, a time of fear and blood and death.

Turning to Gema, Harry said, "I'll take him to First Fire. I'll be okay."

Gema's mouth pressed into a thin line. "Are you insane? It's too dangerous."

The Dark Lord was at his back as Harry snapped, "He will _die_ if he stays here."

Gema's shoulders reared back, her eyes flashing as she snapped, "Lily's _dead_ because of him!"

Her face flushed, her hands fisting at her side. She folded her arms across her chest, shoulders rising, curling around her ears, as she muttered, "He _killed_ her, Hadrian. He didn't have to, but he _did._ You can't _trust_ him!"

"I _don't_ trust him," Harry stepped closer to her, hands up. He held her gaze, refused to blink or look away, as he closed the distance between them. "You know I don't. I can't, however, let him face this place. He needs to leave. He _needs to wake up."_

The Curse Mark flared. The pain resonated at a deeper level in the Curse Mark, far beneath the surface. Deeper than when Voldemort touched him, somehow buried beneath the Mark the Dark Lord caused. Harry rubbed at the old scar, turning his attention to the shadowy streets.

Shade was nearby, churning in the shadows.

A low, ringing screech cut through the silence.

Stepping back, Harry shook his head. Shadow was coming. Shade was nearby, lingering just close enough to cause Harry some discomfort. He could feel both creatures, could sense them, to some degree. Swallowing, Harry turned on Gema as he said, "I don't have much time on my hands, not with Shadow on my trail. The Nagaroja knows where I'm at."

Harry turned, gaze on the Dark Lord. Voldemort's face was impassive as Harry said, "Follow me."

When Gema yelled after him, Harry ignored her. He wouldn't let the Dark Lord die in this place, not in this nightmare where injury follows from dream to waking. He led them out the back door, booking it across the street with Voldemort on his heel. First Fire wasn't too far away, but getting there would be difficult. They had no means of defending themselves, not like Gema and the others – magic rarely worked in this place.

It was simply a game of running away.

Harry knew he could get them both to a Gate, that he could ensure they _both_ wake up. Him, in his Godfather's home – Voldemort, wherever he stayed when he slept. It would be difficult. He wasn't sure if the Dark Lord had ever traveled between planes of existence when dreaming, but Harry knew if the war was to be won, if either of their victories was going to be worth _anything…_

Voldemort couldn't die, in this place. If he died here, in Underfall, the people who had suffered under his wand, under his bigotry, would have suffered in vain. Their deaths would have been for nothing. None of them would have the closure they doubtlessly wanted.

Because there was only one truth in Underfall.

In a world of nightmares, justice did not reign supreme.

Harry did what he always did. He led them through the streets, dodging the undead with uncanny ease. Voldemort kept pace with him, silent as they slowed as they came close to one of the central roads in Heritage Hill. He could see the distant, looming figure of the church steeple. The silver bell gleamed within the lookout, removed from the city yet a beacon of something that could have been, long ago, a thing of beauty.

"What is this place, Potter?" Voldemort caught him by the elbow, turning him around.

Harry glanced into those hellish eyes before looking around them. None of the undead was lunging for them, the streets oddly empty. Swallowing, Harry turned back as he said, "We're in Heritage Hill, in a place called Underfall."

Voldemort's gaze was darting over their surroundings, the man's hand, his left one, twitching and flexing. Reaching for a wand that wasn't there, that would never be there in Underfall. The Dark Lord pushed past him, scanning the dark grey buildings and the fog rolling over the ground. He was taking note of the silence, Harry knew. To the whisper of a distant breeze groaning as it swept between buildings pressed tight against one another.

Then that red gaze was on him. "Underfall. _This_ place is Underfall?"

"You know about this place?" Harry stepped closer, eyes wide. Disbelief cut through him and ate at his mind as a flicker of curiosity burned at the back of his awareness. Him, not his. Harry shook the feeling away as he lowered his voice, "You've heard about Underfall?"

The Dark Lord scowled. "Any wizard worth his weight in gold knows of this place, Potter. I had not realized it was more than a myth, however. How –"

The sudden screech cut off whatever Voldemort was saying. Harry whirled on his heel, eyes widening as a shadowy mass came hurtling at them from the rooftops the same time the energy behind his scar ignited. Another, thinner shadow manifested in front of Harry and Voldemort, stood between them and the Nagaroja coming down upon them with a numbing roar of defiance.

Harry's knees gave out, his body pitching as his vision flashed white.

As he fell, _someone_ caught him. His name, hissed and angry, fell from unlikely lips. All Harry saw, in that moment, as two creature's squared off, was ultraviolet and a monster of shadows through eyes that weren't his own.

* * *

 **Author's Note**

I don't like this chapter. At all.

I wrote it, then rewrote it. Then rewrote it again! I have the next chapter playing out in my head, but I had to get through _this_ chapter to get there. And I still don't like this chapter, not in the least. I hope, however, all of you at least enjoyed it a bit even if my own brain is picking out everything that could be _better_ about it. I have, however, worked on this chapter so much that I'm _done_ with it. I don't want to be stuck here, on this one part, till the day I die because I'm nitpicking at the scene and the interactions.

I'd love to hear all of your thoughts and I like how each of you is trying to piece together what's going on in this story. And, don't worry, Harry will be returning to his friends soon enough!

Good Day, Good Night, and See You Soon! Read, Favorite, and Review!


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